


my only sunshine

by Meridas



Series: you are my sunshine [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, First Time, Genderfluid Mollymauk Tealeaf, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Nightmares, Other, Panic Attacks, Reunions, Temporary Character Death, the HAPPY ENDING part is really important don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
Summary: Within twenty-four hours, Caleb’s soulmate has entered his life, brought him to a circus to fight undead creatures, and been arrested.This wasnotthe plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by encouragement from the widomauk discord, especially Silk. Huge thank-you to steelneena for the beta, and to effy for letting me yell about it.

“Come find me at the show,” Mollymauk Tealeaf says to the table, as if he hasn’t turned Caleb’s world upside-down in the span of five minutes. “We’ll do a proper reading, get to know each other a bit more—” Red eyes flick over to Caleb, a barely discernible twitch of the eyelashes in his direction. “It’ll be a night to remember!”

He’s gone in a whirl of color and Caleb’s heart tugs after him, a sensation he’s read about and never felt until five minutes ago. He never thought it would feel like this, like his ability to draw a full breath is suddenly correlated with this tiefling’s proximity.

His hands tremble as he lifts his mug to his lips and drains his second morning beer. This was _not_ the plan. This was never part of his plan.

Caleb has not thought of the possibility of a soulmate in... years. He’d wondered, briefly and manically, if some poor bastard out there had felt him break. He has a memory—hazy, clouded by grief and madness, but real—of asking someone in cleric’s robes if he was missing something. He doesn’t remember a response, though.

But he has one, after all.

He has no idea how to feel about that.

* * *

Within twenty-four hours, Caleb’s soulmate has entered his life, brought him to a circus to fight undead creatures, and been arrested.

He resists the urge to bang his head against the bar. This is going to be a long investigation.

And he is already under investigation from this new group of weirdos, even. Beauregard and Fjord want too many answers from him, about his magic, about Nott, about their pasts together and apart.

Caleb breaks away from the two nosy ones and goes to sit down by Mollymauk. The colorful tiefling is perched on a barstool, long legs akimbo and tail swishing idly as the barkeep pulls three flagons of different family trosts and sets them down along the bar in front of them.  
  
"So where are you from, then?" he asks. He keeps his voice light and casual. He's sure Mollymauk will see through it, but he does not want the others to know yet. He doesn't know any of these people—truthfully, he does not even know his own soulmate yet. He trusts only Nott, and he has no idea how to explain this to her.

The charms dangling from Mollymauk’s horns catch the low candlelight. His crimson eyes glance sidelong at Caleb, and a small smirk pulls up the corner of his mouth. “I’m from the circus,” he says, and lifts the first pint to his lips.

“And you are covered in scars.”

One arched eyebrow rises in amusement. Molly tips his glass toward Caleb—already half-empty. “That’s a very funny story, actually.”

Nothing else is forthcoming. Caleb stares at him. Mollymauk’s smirk grows wider until it disappears behind his tankard.

Caleb breaks eye contact, raising his glass to his lips. He tunes out the ongoing conversation as he thinks and drains his trosts all too quickly. Curiosity burns in him, at war with his fears and what he likes to think of as his common fucking sense. These people are insane, and he’s not sure Nott is correct about them. Their antics may serve as good cover, but they are equally likely to ruin everything. And this business with Mollymauk… it won’t stay simple. It can’t end well.

“I’ve seen a lot of dicks, okay,” Jester is saying solemnly, and Mollymauk bends over laughing, barstool teetering under his full-body mirth.

 _This changes nothing_ , Caleb tells himself fiercely. _Nothing at all._

* * *

Their first day on the road away from Trostenwald is not as awkward as it could be. It is almost enjoyable, even. Caleb had almost forgotten that the open road can be pleasant in the safety of numbers. Nott is enjoying herself, as well. She and Jester have formed a fast friendship, and Caleb is glad for her.

His own relationships within the group are still rather more precarious.

He has not spoken directly with Mollymauk again. To his surprise, the tiefling has not pressed him, though he has noticed red eyes lingering on him multiple times. He would not have guessed that this riotous rainbow of a person would be patient.

When the sun begins to set on their first day on the road, the six of them manage to find enough shelter to spend the night comfortably. Caleb volunteers for watch, knowing that he will not sleep right away anyway. As everyone settles down, Caleb begins his ritual to cast the Alarm spell around their camp.

By the time he's finished, only Mollymauk is still sitting by the low fire. He's watching Caleb complete his spell, chin perched on his hands and elbows on his knees.

Caleb only hesitates a moment before heading back to take a seat next to him. "Are you not tired?" he asks, pitching his voice low enough not to disturb those trying to get to sleep.

Molly hums and tilts his head toward their companions. "I can wait," he says, and the double meaning is not lost on Caleb. He won't be avoiding the vast complication between them for much longer.

For the first hour, they two of them keep watch in silence. Molly remembers to stoke the fire occasionally, adding their meager kindling sparingly. Caleb summons Frumpkin to his lap and turns his back to the fire, making as much use of his terrible night vision as he can. He'll wait for Mollymauk to broach the subject. He's not avoiding it. He's just... not eager to discuss it.

The tiefling contains himself until the second hour of watch. Caleb jumps slightly as Molly appears beside him and leans back on his palms, still facing the opposite direction as Caleb. It gives him a soft fire-lit view of Molly's profile.

"So," Mollymauk begins. "Soulmates."

Caleb runs his hands over Frumpkin's fur. "Ja, I suppose so. What do you know about them?"

"Oh, this and that." Molly waggles his hand uncertainly. "Never sure what's real and what's romantic exaggeration, you know?"

"Your parents did not explain any of the possibilities to you?" Caleb frowns.

Molly's grin shines in the firelight. "Oh, I got a lot of family stories, growing up. Demons and priests and swords, you know. I never got a whole lot of solid facts about any of it, so I'm sort of just going with it, so far."

His hand drifts up to press against his chest, criss-crossed with scars and half-bare in the deep cut of his shirt. He seems unbothered by the chill in the air, Caleb notes sourly.  

"I felt something weird, though," he says, voice dipping lower and more serious. Caleb feels a shiver go up his spine. "In that fight, on the island. I saw you fall, I saw Nott manage to wake you up, but first I _felt_ it. It didn't hurt, and I'm actually pretty used to weird magic things that hurt during a fight, but is that normal?"

"Ah." Caleb sighs. He should have known that they would already be settling. Even over such a short period of time, they have been cooped up in an inn together in between fighting giant devil-toads and abominations. He'd been hoping to avoid it longer, but nothing for it.

"I'm not sure how to explain," he begins. "The easiest way would probably be to just... show you, but..." Caleb clears his throat, trying to rid himself of the sticky panic rising in his chest. "I'm not... I don't always like to be touched, you understand. I'm not comfortable with that. Not yet."

"Alright." Caleb looks up in surprise and the acquiescence. Molly gives him a little half-smile. It might be a firelight shadow, but Caleb thinks he can see a soft dimple in his cheek, just past the edge of a peacock feather. "I know how it is, Caleb. I've been—yeah, I’m not gonna push." He rolls his neck and shoulders, stretching out with a sigh. The move lets Caleb lower his gaze back to Frumpkin, as well. "I'm hardly in a rush to figure all of this out, anyway. We'll get there when we get there, as Orna is fond of saying."

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says quietly. “When we get there.”

* * *

 

Molly gets two fresh drinks and wanders over to Caleb. Nott sees him coming, and stands up on her chair to whisper in Caleb’s ear. He gives them their privacy, and waits until Caleb nods to Nott and she scampers away between the legs of the Alfield revelers.

He takes her vacated seat and slides one of the drinks into Caleb’s hand. “You doing alright?” he asks.

“I have been better,” Caleb mutters back. He takes a long draft. Molly watches, idly spinning his own tankard around and around. He’s pleasantly buzzed, enough to take the edge off the lingering pain of deep bruises and healing cuts.

After a long moment, Caleb sets his tankard down with a sigh. He looks up at Molly, and meets his eyes again for the first time in hours, ever since he went shuttered and distant in that mine shaft.

“I should explain something to you,” he says, his voice still quiet and rough. Molly leans forward, elbows on the table as he nods encouragingly.

“Give me your hands,” Caleb murmurs, and Molly puts them out to him, palms up, without hesitation. Caleb’s touch is firm but warm, calloused fingers and time-softened cotton brushing against Molly’s hands. He suppresses the little shiver that wants to sneak up his spine, but there’s little to be done about the way his tail curls happily. He just hopes Caleb doesn’t notice.

The wizard seems oblivious to his wayward tail, focusing on their hands instead. He guides Molly’s fingers to his own wrist, where he can feel the steady thump of his pulse. Then he places two fingers of Molly’s other hand to the pulse point at his wrist.

It takes Molly a moment to feel what Caleb means. He sits there, staring at the interwoven sight their hands make, before he realizes that instead of feeling two unique rhythms, he feels one.

“We match,” Molly breathes, marveling at the perfect time their two hearts keep.

“This is what happens when soulmates spend enough time close to each other,” Caleb explains. “It’s referred to as settling. This is why your chest hurt when I was injured, and I’m assuming why you felt it when I was… ah, when I was incapacitated earlier today. It’s not something that will ever go away, now, it will always be like this.”

Molly’s tail flicks excitedly behind him. He tries to control it, not wanting to alarm Caleb with his enthusiasm. He looks up at the wizard, noting the lines of exhaustion on his handsome face.

“Thank you for showing me,” he says. He gives Caleb’s hands a pat, then slides them apart. He tries not to miss the warmth immediately. “It’s late, Caleb. Best we both head to bed, or the others might leave us behind in the morning.”

Caleb nods briskly and stands. He hesitates a moment, like he isn’t sure what to do. Molly gives him a smile and waves his fingers, gently shooing him away. With a quiet mutter of “ _Guten nacht,_ Mollymauk,” Caleb turns and vanishes up the stairs.

Molly slowly leans forward until his head rests on the slightly sticky tabletop. “Don’t do it, Tealeaf,” he mutters to himself. “Don’t even think about it.”

* * *

 

The truth comes out, ugly and messy and stumbling. Mollymauk is not someone who thrives on honesty—he prefers to duck and dazzle, to throw smokescreen lies up in the face of prying questions.

Caleb listens carefully. He wonders, for a moment, what would have happened if he had encountered him three years ago, seven years, fifteen. If the invisible thread between them would still have formed, or if something intangibly and essentially _Molly_ is the matching rhythm to Caleb’s heart.

He shrugs it off. They’ll never know, anyway, and Molly seems to prefer it that way.

Nearly an hour after the tense confrontation in Jester and Beau’s room, Caleb’s heart still pounds erratically. He can’t sleep—every time he starts to drift away, he feels Molly’s anxiety kick his heartbeat up again, and knows his soulmate is not finding rest, either. Quietly, so as not to wake his little companion, Caleb gets up and heads downstairs.

There are only three people left in the tavern at this hour, one of them being a lavender tiefling perched at the bar. He jumps a little and looks up from the bottom of his drink when Caleb comes up beside him.

“You didn’t strike me as the type to drink alone,” Caleb begins, and wants immediately to kick himself. What kind of terrible pickup line—

But it gets a rusty chuckle out of Molly. “If you want me to buy you a drink, love, you only had to ask.” He gives a little wave to the bartender, who deposits a short glass of amber liquid in front of Caleb before disappearing down the bar.

Caleb taps the rim of the glass thoughtfully. “So, ah.”

Molly gives him a little smile from behind the edge of his glass. “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep.” His free hand strays to his chest, before it falls into his lap. “Sorry if I kept you up.”

Caleb shakes his head. “No, no need to apologize. Tonight was… a lot.”

Molly sighs. "That was not how I wanted this to go," he mutters, and there's a traitorous wobble in his voice. Caleb looks over at him, and Molly looks more dejected than he's ever seen him. His mouth turns down, pulling unfamiliar creases into his face, and his downcast eyes have deep blue bags under them. Molly has his tail curled up around his waist, sitting almost folded in on himself and not at all like the excitable sprawl Caleb has grown accustomed to.  

Caleb frowns slightly. He's never seen Molly look this sad, or this terribly lost. "Um. Would you like... Yasha? I can get her."

Molly shakes his head. "No, don't want to wake her up. We're gonna have a lot to do tomorrow, anyway. It's fine." He waved his hand vaguely toward the stairs. "I just—I couldn't sleep. No windows in there, and Fjord snores."

Someone who was not Mollymauk's soulmate might believe the lightness of his voice. Caleb could pretend that he does, too.

Feeling extremely awkward, he reaches out toward the tiefling. "Mollymauk," he says quietly, "come here."

Molly's red eyes dart up, widening at his offer. "You don't do hugs," he says slowly. "You don't like being touched." He looks so stiff and miserable, muscles tight and hunched into his coat. His tail flicks out toward Caleb, and Molly snatches it back to his lap, twitching unhappily.

Caleb reaches out, slowly, carefully, and takes Molly's hand in his. He tugs gently, coaxing him in closer. "I don't like unexpected contact," he corrects, "and I don't like being touched by strangers. You could never be a stranger to me, Molly, and I am offering." He brings Molly's hand up to rest over his chest like a promise. "I don't want to give you the impression that I will be comfortable with this every time, but for the moment, I am. And, ah, you seem like you need a hug.”

The look of verging panic on Molly's face cracks, and underneath is raw gratitude. Caleb catches only a glimpse before Molly's face is buried in his chest. Molly’s hands bunch up the fabric of his coat, but his arms rest loosely around Caleb’s waist, and for that he’s grateful. He puts his arms around Molly’s shoulders and holds on until his shaking stops, until the frustrated line of his shoulders relaxes and his breathing evens out.

“Thank you,” Molly says, muffled into Caleb’s shirt. “Thank you for… what you said, earlier. Up there. I couldn’t—” he huffs out a harsh breath. “I’m sorry you found out that way. I didn’t want it to ever come up. I just wanted… this is me, and I like my bullshit, and I just wanted you to like that.”

“I do.” It slips out before Caleb can even consider it, but it’s the truth. He does like Molly. He doesn’t think he understands him, but perhaps Molly prefers it that way, anyway.

“That’s very sweet of you to say,” Molly mumbles. He shivers, hands clenching spasmodically in Caleb’s coat. “I don’t—what if—”

He huffs out a breath and thumps his forehead against Caleb’s chest. Caleb winces at the _thud_ , but he stays where he is. “I don’t know a damn thing about soulmates,” Molly says, his voice rough and frustrated. “A few stories, nothing more. Nothing _real_. I don’t know how this works and I just—I want this to be _mine_. Not that other bastard’s. I don’t like the thought that something like this was never supposed to be mine.”

Caleb hesitates, floundering. It has been so long since he’s had to… comfort someone like this. Someone who matters to him.

“There are some magics,” he says slowly, “that no one has ever been able to decipher. No researcher or mage or cleric has ever recorded an answer to that question, Mollymauk, and many have asked.” He lifts his hand up and rests it hesitantly on Molly’s hair. It’s surprisingly soft. “This is not my area of expertise, by a long shot. I assumed for a long time that I would never have a soulmate. Yet here you are.” He pats Molly gently on the head. “You are here, Mollymauk Tealeaf, and for whatever reason or whim of the gods, you and I are soulmates. Just you. And that is all that matters to me.”

Molly lifts his head up and manages a faint smile. “You’re not terrible with words, after all.”

Caleb shrugs. “Well, only sometimes.”

“Thank you.” Molly closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh, letting his forehead thump back against Caleb’s chest.

Caleb can’t help the twitch of amusement that tugs at his lips. “Perhaps it is time for bed,” he suggests. “It’s been quite the night, and it seems we have a long ways to go in the morning.”

Molly sighs heavily. “Yeah, you’re right.”

His hands slip from Caleb’s back to his sides as he stands, untangling himself less than gracefully from the barstool. Caleb firms his grip on Molly’s shoulders, steadying him. Molly’s tail swishes against the hem of Caleb’s coat. He feels it loop loosely around his knee, and then Molly looks up at him and he realizes how close they are to each other.

Molly is just a bit taller than him, like this, and Caleb can see his eyes widen when he, too, notices how much he’s leaning on the wizard. He still has remnants of makeup on, Caleb notes idly, traces of gold smeared over his eyelids and a once-sharp line of kohl that has softened with the day. Molly is very warm beneath his hands, especially with that ostentatious coat discarded upstairs and only a linen shirt covering his shoulders.

It has been a long time since Caleb noticed how very, very pretty someone is.

Molly’s tongue darts out, in the space of a blink. Caleb thinks he catches a sheen of metal and wonders, with a sudden flush, if Mollymauk has piercings in places other than his ears. He hasn’t noticed any in his tongue before.

He really doesn’t need to be thinking about Molly’s tongue.

“Caleb,” Molly says, low and hesitant in the air between them, and Caleb realizes with a shock that the distance between them is almost gone, that somehow Molly is close enough to kiss. He takes a sharp breath— _doesn’t help, heavy with the smell of perfume and whiskey_ —and Molly’s hands fall away from his waist as he steps back.

He swallows hard, then clears his suddenly-dry throat. “Ah—yes. Yes. Nott is—upstairs, she is probably… noticed. That I left.”

Molly’s eyes are inscrutable once again. He turns away, back to the bar, and first tips back the remainder of his own golden drink, and then follows it with the entirely of Caleb’s untouched glass. He slaps a gold piece down on the counter and steps away, back toward the stairs.

“Thanks again, Caleb,” he says. His hand darts out for a quick, light pat as he brushes by. “Goodnight, dear.”

Caleb is left dumbstruck, his head still reeling with the fading waft of Molly’s presence. “Goodnight, Mollymauk,” he whispers to the empty room.

* * *

It's been a pretty good day, in Molly's opinion. Sure, at the moment he's definitely feeling every hit he just took in the Victory Pit, but it's nothing a few drinks and a good night's sleep won't fix. There's this worrying business of the Empire going to war, but he's not going to stick around for that, no way. He's going to take his gold and his friends and his soulmate, and get them the hell out. He misses the open road, anyway. It's time to pack up and go.

That's after he proves to Beau that he can hold his liquor better, of course.

He's just snagged a third glass of wine, something pale gold and fizzing slightly, when he feels his heart being to hammer. It's fast and panicked, speeding up like he's back in a fight and surging with adrenaline and magic, and it isn't coming from him.

Aiming for nonchalance, Molly turns and does a full sweep of the room. He finds his soulmate hunched over at the edge of the room, sitting down a distance apart from all the conversations and revelry. The cat is nowhere to be seen.

Twirling his wineglass between his fingers, Molly sidles over to Caleb's form. Bending down, he catches a glimpse of Caleb's face and the empty bright blue that indicates he's using Frumpkin's eyes rather than his own.

Alright, so Caleb can’t hear him. Touching him now would only disturb him. He leans up against the wall beside his wizard, bringing the wineglass to his lips and keeping half an eye on Yasha, half on Caleb. Scanning the room, he manages to catch a glimpse of Frumpkin’s orange tail, resting a scant ten feet away from the conversation Beau and Yasha are having.

Suddenly Caleb’s eyes blink back to their normal blue, and he folds forward, staring at the floor. His heartbeat is thundering in Molly’s chest now.

“Mollymauk,” he grits out, voice low, “if you’re going to stand there, make yourself useful and make sure they cannot see me.”

Molly raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. He shrugs off the wall, placing his back to the room and sidling between Caleb and the window where the two wizards were.

“Take this,” he mutters, sliding his glass into Caleb’s hand. He puts his hands on his hips, incidentally spreading his coat out further to hide more of Caleb’s form. “We’re gonna have a talk when we get back to the inn,” he says quietly, partly honest and partly to create the charade of a feuding couple for anyone paying attention, one angry and one remorsefully staring into his cup. “Or maybe on the road, because if there's a war coming we're getting well fucking away from it fast as we can…” He lets his mouth run away from him, muttering nonsense to an unresponsive Caleb and straining his ears for anything happening around him. People brush past him, the voices in the background dying down slowly.

Finally Caleb stands up abruptly, finally glancing up at Molly’s face. He drains Molly’s wine in one go and shoves the glass back at him. Their joined heartbeat is racing so strong that Molly can hear it thumping in his ears.

Molly frowns slightly. “Caleb,” he begins, pitched low and conspiratorial, but before he can say anything, Caleb’s eyes are sliding past him, and he hears their group approach their little corner.

Things in the Empire seem to be taking a turn for the worse, and the conversation Beau and Yasha had isn’t confidence-inspiring. Nevertheless, they all agree to stay the night again, at least. Jester leads them happily to the Tri-Spires for a night of celebration and the promise of a gift from her mother.

They head back to the Pillow Trove, and all Molly wants is a massage and a relaxing night, and maybe to see which of his friends might be scandalized by his plans for his new tapestry. He tries to catch Caleb’s eye, maybe ask if he wants to join him and make it interesting, but when Caleb tugs on his sleeve his voice has a very different tone.

“I’m getting another room,” he says, “and I need to speak with you, and Nott and Beauregard. It’s—please don’t ask me questions.”

It’s an odd request, from Caleb, but the tension in his voice is easy to hear. Molly considers pouting, maybe trying to convince Caleb to put whatever dire thing this is off for a few more hours, but he senses that it won’t go over well.

To say that Molly wasn’t expecting Caleb’s story would be an understatement.

He leans against the wall and just listens. He doesn’t interject when Beau and Nott do. He doesn’t offer anything up when Caleb is finished, when the girls offer what they feel and Caleb summarily rejects their attempts at comfort. He just waits.

Nott’s eyes linger on him, and he knows that Beau is just burning with more curiosity as to why he’s even here, but neither Molly nor Caleb is about to tell them. Caleb just pats Nott on the shoulder and asks her quietly, his voice hoarse, if she wouldn’t mind giving him a moment. Hesitantly, highly suspicious, the two of them depart. Molly wishes Nott had left her flask behind for this.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Molly finally sighs. “I just…” He rakes his fingers through his hair, the messy strands catching roughly on his rings. “Caleb, I don’t _care_. I mean,” he adds hastily, “I—listen, I care that you’re hurting. I’m sorry about your family, I really am. But it’s—you’re here _now_ , Caleb, I don’t understand why you think this is going to change everything I’ve thought and felt about you _now_.”

Caleb gives that laugh again, that hysterical and painful sound. Molly reaches toward him, but Caleb flinches away from his touch and he drops his hand. His chest hurts in a way he can’t find words to explain.

“This is not some petty thing that is over and done with,” Caleb says. “It’s not something I can pack up the circus and move away from, do you realize that? It’s never going to go away, I cannot simply _forget_ about it.”

“Why not?” Molly shoots back. “What’s stopping you? Not the forgetting thing, don’t remind me, I know you don’t forget things, alright. But why—it’s been years, Caleb, you’re not the same person you were! Surely meeting Nott, deciding to stick with all of us, aren’t you trying to be something new?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, Mollymauk. Not for me.”

Molly purses his lips, frustrated. “Okay,” he says slowly. He breathes deeply, in once, then out. “Did you bring me in here to tell me this under some kind of harebrained impression that I’d hate you? Is that what you’re looking for?”

Caleb pushes his hair roughly away from his face. “ _Nein_. That was not my intention. I felt—Beauregard asked me. And I did not like the idea that she would know this about me, about my past, when you did not.” He sighs, dropping his hands into his lap. “She pushed me far ahead of when I thought this might come up, though.”

Molly’s throat feels tight and hot. “Caleb, did you just have me in here to give yourself some excuse to push me away?”

“I never thought I would have a soulmate in the first place,” Caleb mutters. “To find one—to find you now, after everything I did, is surely a mistake.”

Molly feels like he’s been punched, his breath catching painfully in his throat. Anger flares hot in his chest, and his tail lashes painfully, smacking into the wall.

“I know I don’t know much about soulmates,” he says, “but that sounds like bullshit.”

“There is nothing that obligates you to stay,” Caleb snaps. “There is nothing inherently romantic or platonic or familial about a soulmate. We match, that’s all. So there is nothing keeping you here, you can go now.”

“Except that I care about you, you sad bastard!” Molly hisses. He can’t yell, can’t raise his voice with his frustration lest prying ears overhear. Caleb opens his mouth, and Molly points a finger at him warningly. “And you just said there’s no magical shit that can _make_ me care, so no take-backs!”

“I am a garbage person, Mollymauk!” Caleb says, voice strained and vehement, but quiet.

“You’re _my_ soulmate,” Molly says stubbornly. “And I don’t have a lot, alright. You don’t get to decide on your own that you can take this from me.”

He stands up, too upset to sit still in this stifling, simmering room. “Nothing is ever going to be perfect,” he says, “least of all a relationship, soulmate or not. All we have is a _chance_ at something happy right here, right now, unless you want to let your past ruin it before it starts. If you don’t want anything more to come of _this_ ,” he gestures between them, helpless and sharp, “then just tell me. But don’t tell me that I’m a _mistake_. _That’s_ garbage, Caleb.”

“You don’t—” Caleb snaps his mouth shut. He leans forward, pressing his face into his hands.

Molly takes a deep breath, holds it in. The silence in the room is unbearable.

“Please give me time to think about things,” Caleb says quietly, with a finality in his voice that tells Molly he won’t make any more headway tonight.

So he nods, scoops up his coat, and slips out the door. Eyes burning and throat tight, he goes to find Yasha.

* * *

 

Caleb isn’t sure which one of them is avoiding the other, but he doesn’t see much of Mollymauk the next day. It isn’t until the afternoon that he sees him again, when they all meet up and head out of the city. Instead of settling into his usual spot sprawled out beside Caleb in the back of the cart, Mollymauk hops up into the front seat beside Fjord. He doesn’t say anything to Caleb.

Being given the cold shoulder by such an up-front and open-hearted person is more upsetting than Caleb had anticipated. He knows it isn’t retaliatory, knows that Molly isn’t petty so much as he is constantly running away from potential hurt. Caleb can’t blame him for it. He’s had more potential to hurt Molly than any of their group, from the moment they laid eyes on each other in Trostenwald, and he proved it last night the moment the word _mistake_ left him.

Molly is as subtle about it as he knows how to be, trying to preserve the appearance of a normal relationship to the group. But he’s not very good at hiding his upset, and the group’s mood is pensive and on edge as they watch Zadash disappear out of eyesight.

To make matters worse, Nott has noticed, and spends the morning glaring daggers at the back of Molly’s head. As soon as they make their first stop for the day, Caleb drags her off out of earshot.

“Please stop glaring at Mollymauk,” he mutters. “It’s just making the whole thing more suspicious.”

“I’m not gonna let him treat you like this over what you were coerced into doing as a child!” Nott hisses back. “It’s not right! He has no right! Who even knows what kind of shit he used to—”

“Nott, that’s not what this is about,” he cuts her off. “I—this is not about that. It’s…” he sighs. “It’s complicated, but Mollymauk is not shunning me because of what I told you last night.”

“If he tells everyone else your secrets, I’ll cut his tongue out,” Nott mutters darkly, and Caleb winces.

“Please do not do that,” he says. “Please, just… try to let everything go back to normal.”

Nott’s large golden eyes peer up at him, searching. “Okay,” she says slowly. Her little hand creeps into his and squeezes. “Caleb, you know you can tell me things, if you want to.”

He musters a smile for her. “This isn’t one of those things, I’m afraid.”

As they head back to the group, Caleb looks up in time to see Molly’s red eyes drop away from him.

He’d tried to distance himself from Mollymauk before it was too late, but somehow Caleb is still miserable without him. Maybe he didn’t try hard enough. Maybe there was nothing he could have done in the first place. But he misses… well, he misses Molly, even though he’s only a few feet away. Caleb could close the distance whenever he wants. He knows that Molly would let him, if he chose to reach out.

He sits in the back of the cart as the miles roll by in silence.

* * *

 

There’s no way to avoid each other on the road, though, not really. It’s impossible to do when Caleb gets shot, _yet again_ , when even through his pain he hears his name shouted across the clearing. Molly hovers over Jester’s shoulder as she insists on checking Caleb over, clearly trying not to look too concerned. He’s failing pretty miserably, so Caleb lets himself be dragged under the cart with Nott and Mollymauk, out of the rain for the night.

Nott’s quiet snores are almost drowned out by the drumming of rain on the cart, but Caleb can tell that sleep eludes Molly. He hesitates, turning the inevitable conversation over and over in his head. Molly shifts uncomfortably, curling more tightly into a ball. Caleb sighs quietly, and forces himself to reach out and touch his shoulder.

The tiefling freezes, then slowly turns over to face Caleb. Caleb can hardly see his own hand in front of his face, but he can make out a very faint glimmer of red, Molly’s dark-seeing eyes reflecting flickers of light too faint for Caleb to see.

Carefully, barely touching, Caleb follows the line of Molly’s shoulder down his arm, and finds his hand. He draws it back toward him, slowly, keeping his grip light in case Molly wants to pull away. But he doesn’t.

Caleb presses Molly’s palm to his chest. “We're alright,” he whispers, just barely audible over the sound of the rain.

Molly’s hand curls into a loose fist, bunching up in Caleb’s shirt. He doesn’t say anything. But his eyes close, and his breathing evens and deepens slowly.

Caleb stays awake until he feels their heartbeat slow into a sleeping rhythm, and Molly’s hand goes lax on his chest.

* * *

 

Things are easier after that, like they’ve let go of a breath that was becoming painful to hold. They make their way north toward their goal, and although the rain keeps pouring down it’s a lighthearted journey. Luckily, they manage to avoid any more conflicts, as well. Caleb doesn’t want to test his luck against any more crossbow bolts, whether they come from enemies or from Nott.

He still needs to talk to Mollymauk, though. He’s been thinking about their conversation, turning it over and over in his mind for days. He feels like he started to bridge that gap between them last night, but something of this magnitude—he wants to do this right, if they’re going to try it. He owes that to Molly, if not to himself.

When Molly offers to take the first watch, Caleb claims it as well. It’s a miserably cold night, once again, and he does not think he could fall asleep anyway with the nerves bubbling in his stomach.  

As the rest of their party settle down to sleep, Molly flops down beside the fire and presses close to Caleb immediately, huddled up against the cold.

“I thought you did not mind the weather,” Caleb says. Molly just grumbles back at him. At least it has not started raining yet, tonight. He hopes that their watch will be over before it does, and they can claim the space under the cart again.

He hopes, by the time their watch is done, it won’t be so awkward that he’d choose to sleep out in the rain. It’s a distinct possibility.

The night darkens around them, clouds blocking out the moonlight overhead. Their companions all seem deeply asleep. The fire dims but flickers on.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day,” Caleb begins. He feels Molly shift next to him, but he keeps his gaze on the embers.

He clears his throat. “I, ah, feel I should apologize, first. I said some things that came out… unkind. You did not deserve that. This… I don’t claim to be an expert, I don’t actually know what this is. But it is not a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Molly bumps his shoulder gently. “I was also a bit of a dick, to be fair,” he says quietly. “Not a great night, all around.”

Caleb huffs a soft laugh. “ _Ja_ , you’re not wrong.” He takes a deep breath. “I am not an easy soulmate to have. I would likely not make a good romantic partner. But you are stuck with me for one of those things, and, ah… I care about you, too. Much more deeply than I wanted to admit, perhaps. And I want to fix what we had, and maybe even see… where we might go from here.”

“I could fall in love with you,” Molly says, clear and simple and rocking Caleb to his core. He looks up and meets Molly’s direct, calm gaze. Mollymauk gives a little shrug, like _what can you do?_ “I could. So, you know, it’d only be polite to let me know if I shouldn’t. Otherwise, I’m on board with this.”

“It is definitely a bad idea,” Caleb croaks. His throat feels dry. His heart is hammering, and gods, he knows Molly can feel it. “It’s… almost certainly a terrible decision.”

Molly grins at him, bright in the dim glow of Caleb’s lights. Caleb’s pathetic heart trips again, because _gods above_ Molly is beautiful. “I’ve never been known for making great decisions, to be honest,” he says softly, and Caleb knows a chance when it is laid out at his feet.

He leans forward and kisses Molly.

It’s a little clumsy, out of practice. But then Molly places his hand on Caleb’s cheek to pull him in, and they find a rhythm that works. Caleb shifts closer and reaches up. He’s sure his hand is shaking as he pushes it into Molly’s hair, running the silky strands through his fingers. Molly’s lips open under his, taking in a little gasp of air, and Caleb lets them part naturally. He stays close, feeling Molly’s breath on his lips.

Molly is trembling a little under his hand. Whether it’s from nerves or excitement or something else, Caleb has no idea. His head is spinning. It’s been years since he kissed anyone, and it was nothing like this. This, this one simple kiss, has his heart pounding in his chest, and he knows if he were to press closer to Molly he would feel it reciprocated perfectly.

He wants to kiss Molly again. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment by pushing too fast.

He sits back slowly, loosening his grip but leaving his hand in Molly’s soft hair. The tiefling looks back at him, eyes shining in his golden lights.

“Is that an answer?” Molly asks, hope creeping into his voice.

Caleb takes a deep breath. It’s a chance, nothing more. He doesn’t deserve Mollymauk, but perhaps. Perhaps he can try.

“It is,” he replies, and Molly leans in to kiss him again.

* * *

 

The Labenda Swamp tests all of them in new ways. Caleb and Beau reach a new low, but to Molly’s surprise it doesn’t end in punching when they make up. In fact, it’s a rather nice moment for the whole group.

Caleb hands him a ridiculous sword with a small smile and a new, unguarded warmth in his eyes. Molly pulls him aside for a brief moment as everyone regroups, and steals a kiss.

They decide to pick a fight with a troll, too, which is par for the course with these insane weirdos.

It’s starting to feel like family. Molly likes it.

The seven of them stumble back into Berleben, somewhat ragtag and somewhat richer than they were when they left. After spending two days wading through the swamp and general damp of the area, coughing up the extra gold for the nicer, dry inn is well worth it.

There’s even hot water available, so Molly spends plenty of time cleaning up properly. Just the feeling of clean hair and no muck under his fingernails is a small bliss. He drops his things off in Fjord’s room as usual, but on a whim decides to go pop in on his favorite wizard.

Caleb is quite the cozy picture, already bundled up in bed with Frumpkin at his side, reading by the light of his magic orbs. Molly leans against the doorframe, just watching him for a moment. He thinks, no matter what Caleb says, that he got quite lucky in the soulmate department.

He raps his knuckles softly on the doorframe. Caleb’s head snaps up, and Molly gives him a slow smile. “Hello, there,” he says. “Just wanted to say goodnight, but you look very cozy over there.”

Caleb hesitates visibly—but to Molly’s surprise and pleasure, he actually lifts the edge of the covers in invitation. "Nott is spending tonight with the other girls," he says. "Something about a slumber party with the small bird child."

Molly hums as he slides under the blankets, warmed already by Caleb's heat. He drapes his arm over Caleb's lap, careful of his book, and closes his eyes. "You feeling alright?" he murmurs. "That was a hell of a few days."

A hand settles in Molly's hair, fingers running absentmindedly through the strands. Molly presses his forehead against Caleb's thigh, angling for the best line of contact. He doesn't cuddle in any closer than that—Caleb's still not always alright with it, and anyway, he'll most likely be up reading for hours yet. Molly just wants to sleep.

"I’m good, _ja_ ," Caleb assures him. "Thank you, Molly. _Schatz_."

Molly hums again, satisfied. He doesn’t know that word, but he likes how Caleb’s voice forms it, soft and fond. Caleb's hand runs slowly through his hair, over and over, until Molly falls asleep to the sound a cat’s purr and turning pages.

* * *

 

“You alright, love?” Molly whispers as he pulls Caleb upright in the prison’s basement. Caleb groans and leans against him. Molly keeps his arms firmly around him as they wander away from the others so that Caleb can check for anything magical or useful.

“I’ve been better,” Caleb wheezes a little, but he squeezes Molly’s shoulder in reassurance. Molly glances over his shoulder to make sure they’re out of sight, then presses a kiss to Caleb’s hair.

Eventually Caleb’s spell runs out, and he shakes his head to clear his eyes. “The only thing magical in here is you, Mollymauk,” he declares, and pats Molly clumsily on the face before staggering back over to Beau. Molly bites his lip, fighting a rising grin. He turns away, and Yasha catches his eye. She raises one eyebrow at him, a soft smile flickering across her lips. He feels heat rising in his face and wonders if anyone could tell he’s blushing in the low dungeon light.

He keeps his composure better than Beau does, at least, as all of them troop back up into the light of day. They’ve done a good deed together, and their odd little bird friend is safe, and Nott has a worrying new contraption. One more night of good drink and good company is in order before they hit the road again, in Molly’s opinion.

“One drink before bed?” he asks, and gets murmurs of agreement. “Excellent, I’m going to freshen up.” He reaches over and plucks at Caleb’s bloodstained shirt as well. “You going to survive any revelry, there, Mister Caleb?”

Caleb’s eyes narrow at him, likely trying to suss out what Molly is up to. Molly grins wider at him. He’s definitely up to something, and Caleb will find out about it later. Molly’s counting on it.

He cleans up well, and he knows it, even moving as quickly as he is. A quick wash-up and a fresh shirt isn’t quite what Molly’s going for, as he breaks out his little case of makeup and leans in close to the mirror. It feels like a good day. Like a celebration, in a way. Plus, he’d really like to get Caleb speechless again. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s very fun.

He finds Caleb downstairs at the bar, nursing an ale with a small glass of deep red cordial by his elbow. Molly sidles up and props his elbow on Caleb’s shoulder. “Why thank you, Caleb, you didn’t have to.”

Caleb’s sharp intake of breath is just about exactly what he was hoping for.

Molly grins at him. “Like it?”

Caleb’s eyes dart toward their friends, but everyone is highly occupied in the rambunctious tavern. “You are a menace,” he mutters, but the way his eyes stray back to Molly’s lips says otherwise.

Molly smiles sweetly at him and plucks Caleb’s drink from his unresisting fingers. He takes a draft, then passes the tankard back to the wizard with one deep red imprint on the rim. “See you later, darling,” he says, and he takes his own drink and swans away.

‘Later’ doesn’t take Caleb very long. It’s a short night for most of them, battered and bruised as they are, but Molly feels an insistent tug on his sleeve as Nott is in the middle of defending her Hour of Honor title against some fresh-faced idiot. Molly follows him unresistingly up to his and Nott’s empty room, his tail lashing excitedly.  

Caleb presses him up against the door the instant it shuts and kisses him for all he's worth. Molly moans against him and nips at his lip, thrilled at Caleb's enthusiasm. He's pinned where he is, quite happily, with Caleb's hands sliding beneath his shirt and seeking out bare skin. He shudders as Caleb's thumb swipes across his nipple. Then Caleb breaks the kiss, pulls away slightly even as Molly makes a noise of complaint.

Oh, he's certainly a sight to behold, though. Caleb's eyes are hot and focused, bright in the dim room. Molly's stomach gives a funny little swoop when he sees the wine-red stain of his own lipstick smeared across Caleb's mouth.

“Stay right there,” Caleb rasps, and it's not a difficult decision to do exactly as he asks.

Molly lets his head fall back against the door, biting his lip to stifle a moan. Caleb’s tongue traces hot up his throat, leaving Molly gasping. Clever fingers tug at the laces up his shirt, shucking it impatiently from his shoulders. Molly shakes it to the floor, gets his hands back on Caleb’s body. He shoves past the layers, scrabbling for buttons or belt or anything that will hasten Caleb on the way toward nudity.

Caleb is no help, pressing up flush against Molly’s front and almost certainly leaving more than one mark on his neck. It's only fair, Molly thinks dizzily, considering the burgundy smudges that Caleb is going to have to clean off.

A door slams shut down the hallway. Molly sucks in a breath, reaching desperately for even a shred of common sense. Just enough to decide if it’s worth it to throw that shred back out the window. “Caleb,” he mutters. He reaches up and runs his fingers through the wizard’s hair. “Caleb, that’s—oh, that’s nice, don’t—”

Caleb’s quiet, rusty laugh sends pleasant little shivers along Molly’s skin. He pulls away, placing one more light kiss on Molly’s shoulder. “ _Ja_ ,” he says regretfully, “perhaps this is not the time to take things further.” His thumbs skate over the bare skin at Molly’s hips. “Nott will only spend so long defending her title downstairs.”

Molly sighs quietly. He can’t help but break into a grin as Caleb leans away. “You’re a mess,” he chuckles. He reaches up and swipes haphazardly at Caleb’s mouth. “Oh, hells, I got—” he breaks off, laughing helplessly. “I’ve—you’re a mess, Mister Caleb.”

Caleb scrubs at his mouth with the back of his hand, then looks at the waxy red smear across it. He raises an eyebrow at Molly, who grins back unrepentantly. “It’s a good look on you,” he purrs, tail swishing happily against the door.

“You,” Caleb murmurs, “are a _menace_.”

Molly goes back to his own bed that night, but it takes him a long time to stop smiling.

* * *

 The morning comes, overcast but not terribly cold, and the seven of them set out.

“You’re excited to get to Shady Creek Run?” he asks.

“I’m always interested in sketchy places and dubious people,” Molly grins. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Caleb can’t help the smile that creeps across his face. “If you say so, Mister Mollymauk.”

Molly smiles back at him, bright and excited in the morning light. Caleb ducks in for one more kiss, soft and quick in the shelter of the doorway, before they step out to the open road once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/a.mackenzie13/playlist/68XqTxCuMIdnLayyDiQwBa?si=lN1MyMW8TgemqqWe4Acdxw) for this fic as well!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone! Please mind the updated tags: this is the chapter where things are sad for a while. If you just want the happy bits, you can skip down to the final section of this chapter, starting from "Eventually, the group makes their way back to Zadash."
> 
> Three cheers for steelneena for amazing beta work with this chapter! She was a huge help in putting things in the right order and helping me figure out which bits of canon to adhere to and which ones to gloss over, as well as German translations and spell-checks. This chapter would make a lot less sense without her help.

Caleb stares down at the note in his hands. He knows the words written on it by heart already. He wrote them, for all that it does not seem real. Surely this is a bad dream. He will wake up any moment, and Molly will be there, and Caleb will not be holding this piece of paper in his hands.

Except he had already woken up, not too long ago. He woke up staring at the sky, with Nott's tear-stained face hovering above him. He woke up and couldn't breathe for the pain in his chest, the emptiness sitting like an anvil where his heart should be. For a long, terrifying moment, he couldn't feel his own pulse.

And then he had staggered to his feet, and fallen back to his knees, because his heartbeat _had_ stopped. Half of his rhythm had ceased, and Caleb Widogast's shattered excuse for a heart had the gall to start up again. Stuttering and painful and uneven, when every beat was a sharp stab of pain and every skip made him dizzy, but it had started again and he cannot decide if he hates it for that.

He stares down at the note he will bury with his soulmate.

There is nothing left to write. There's _everything_ left to tell him. There is so much that Caleb never gave voice to, that Molly didn't say to him, that both of them hid behind half-truths and deflections. Some of it, surely, was trivial bullshit. Some things weigh on his hand now, more important than anything he’d managed to say.

"Hey." Caleb jumps at Beau's voice. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and he does them both the courtesy of looking away. "Are you almost done?"

Caleb blinks at her. "I—ah..."

He looks down at the note. There's no way he can ever be finished. But what else can he say, when Beauregard and Nott and a stranger are here, hovering and lost and impatient?

He can't write down the words that would really mean something. He can only lay out the facts, the impersonal truths of the situation and their blind hopes going forward. He can't write _you have a soulmate_ or _please come back to me_ or _I lost you and I'm sorry_.

He folds the note carefully in half, then in half again. " _Ja_ ," he says quietly. "I'm done."

His fingers fumble, but he finds the clay cat’s paw component for his spell. He holds it up and begins to mutter.

He makes the mistake of glancing down.

Something in him _breaks._ He swears his heart stops entirely—for the space of a long, empty breath, he feels nothing in his chest. The magic he is guiding through the world freezes with his heart, with _Molly’s_ heart, and he feels it like something within him _shatters_.

His spell flares, but no cat’s paw emerges. Nothing happens.

And then the ground begins to shake.

For a moment he thinks it’s just him, just his body shaking and lost. Then his heart starts again, and it’s pounding and surging as the ground beneath him heaves.

Massive fissures crack into the ground. One of the hills around the ambush site splits, clean through like an axe had struck it. The few spindly trees around them whip frantically back and forth, and one of them surges from the earth, spat up by its roots and toppling over to the ground. Caleb falls to his knees, or the earth goes out from under him, and stars flash before his eyes as he hits the ground and covers his head and closes his eyes.

Everything goes still.

Caleb’s ears are ringing, high-pitched and deafening. He blinks his eyes open, his vision blurry and bright.

The trees have stopped shaking. The ground beneath him is silent.

“What—what was that?” Nott cries. As Caleb uncurls, he sees her trembling visibly, shaking from head to toe. She yanks her flask out of her pocket, her hands scrabbling for the cap.

Beau pushes herself up off the ground, looking around. “What the fuck,” she gasps. “Was that a fucking earthquake? I’ve never felt anything like that.”

“Yeah,” Keg replies grimly. She pushes herself up with the aid of her axe. “Fuck me, that was a big one, too.”

Beau takes a deep breath. “Was that anything magical?” she asks Caleb. “Something _they_ could have done?”

Slowly, carefully, Caleb shakes his head. Pain throbs at the back of his skull. “That was— _scheiße_ , if that was magic it was incredibly powerful.” He stands up, uneasy. “That kind of spell is far beyond me, and beyond the capabilities of mere slavers.”

Caleb’s hands tremble as he grasps the clay paw again and… he hesitates. Then he closes his eyes and casts. _It could not have been me,_ he tells himself firmly and his hands trace familiar patterns. _There is no way._

The spell takes effect seamlessly, a huge paw reaching out of the ground, and with bile rising in his throat, Caleb digs out a rough grave. Beau and Nott murmur around him, but the ringing in Caleb’s ears lingers, too loud for him to pay attention to them. He places the note carefully inside the folds of Molly’s tapestry. _Please come back to me_.

Something primal and essential in Caleb’s chest curls cold at the sight of Mollymauk Tealeaf at the bottom of a grave. He kneels beside him, one last time, his eyes blurring with tears. Subtly, he brings his fingertips to his lips and kisses them. Then he leans down and gently moves the hair out of his face.

There is nothing left to say.

* * *

Something has happened to Caleb's magic.

He has never heard of this happening, of a wizard's soulmate affecting their spellcasting ability. Caleb's magic has always come from a place of study, of control and understanding, never from his gut or his heart. Magic feels unpredictable on his fingertips in a way it never has before.

When Caleb tries to call the words to him, something as simple as a Friends spell, his hand shakes and his voice chokes and nothing happens. There's the briefest flicker of magic in his veins, but it subsides without effect, leaving him feeling drained and cold. He feels as though the snow around them has settled in his chest, and even his oldest friend, his fire, is struggling to burn.

He should have known. Everything good and bright about him is in the ground, now. His heart cannot hold a steady beat, and he can no longer harness magic.

They speak to the innkeeper in Shady Creek Run, to Ophelia Mardun, to a strange sickly firbolg in a cemetery. They plan their assault on the Sour Nest, running on too little sleep and too much vengeance to be healthy. Nott keeps throwing concerned glances toward Caleb, and he keeps brushing her off.

He can't tell them. He will never be able to tell them, now, that Mollymauk is his soulmate. He cannot bear the idea of pitying looks and soft condolences and _are you sure you're up for this_ and whatever else may come.

He needs to save what they have left, and he can't do that if they know that every breath is agony.

He pushes on.

He’s strong enough to tackle the Sour Nest with them. He pushes through, hangs onto his magic and his sanity and his life by his fingernails as he creeps through the rank, dismal halls with his heart in his throat.

They take down the slavers, one by one. Nila finds her family, one bright speck that gives the rest of them hope. To everyone’s surprise, there is even an old friend waiting for them inside.

The weight of Shakäste’s consideration presses on Caleb. The blind man’s eyes seem to follow him. Caleb wonders if something is tangibly off about him, now. He wonders if clerics can sense a wound beyond the physical. But if they can, neither Shakäste nor Caduceus comments on it.

Caleb’s blood begins to boil when Nott and Keg discuss Lorenzo. He shoves the feeling down, tries to stay calculated and cold. They have a mission here, and he must stay focused if they are going to rescue their friends.

All his control is for naught when he sees that fucker’s face.

Caleb is losing blood rapidly, barely holding himself up against the stairwell. “ _Your kaleidoscopic friend_ ,” he hears, and then there’s a ringing in his ears and magic rises in him. It builds under his skin like fire, like grief, and it burns and rages out of control as Caleb locks eyes with the creature that took his soulmate and falls to his knees with a roar.

Fire explodes into the room—not the small bolt conjured from his fingertips, no. This is a massive storm of flame that bursts into creation and engulfs the center of the room where Lorenzo stands, frozen in place by a well-aimed strike. Beau and Keg dive wildly out of the way, but Caleb does not even see them. He sees nothing but fire, and a taunting snarl, and red eyes devoid of light, and he _burns_.

* * *

He’s told later that he passed out. That Beau and Nott looked up to find Lorenzo a pile of ashes, and Caleb crumpled unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. He meets Caduceus’ eyes briefly when Nott tells him how their new firbolg friend healed him, and Caleb looks away first.

Jester and Fjord and Yasha are all alive. That is not a thing to discount lightly.

Caleb is selfishly, miserably glad that Yasha does not wake. He can’t choke the words that he would have to say to her past his lips. And he would owe it to her, Molly’s oldest and dearest friend, to say it. He can’t bring himself to. Not yet.

* * *

Yasha leaves them. He cannot blame her. Fjord salutes with the changed falchion, the sword that makes Caleb’s heart stumble painfully in his chest. Jester draws a card.

Caleb stands back, silent and curled into himself. He watches the group, and sees Caduceus tilt his head, watching them, watching the grave. Caleb sees him begin to crouch down, his hand tilted down to touch the earth.

 _Stop him_ , Caleb thinks wildly, instinctively. Except it must translate to a command, because his freshly-summoned familiar leaps from Jester’s lap and sinks needle-sharp cat fangs into the firbolg’s hand. Caduceus grunts and reels back, but Frumpkin clings on, raking fey-sharp claws across his skin and _growling_ in a way Caleb has never heard before.

“Stop!” he cries. “Frumpkin, stop—”

He snaps his fingers, and the cat reappears in his arms, instantly calm. Caleb’s heart is racing as he slides in between the cleric and the grave.

“Don’t,” he blurts out. “Don’t touch him.”

Caduceus frowns, his injured hand still partially extended. One of the claw marks drops blood into the snow. “I didn’t mean to touch him, sorry, he just sort of...”

Caleb shakes his head. His fingers clench sporadically in Frumpkin’s fur. “Mollymauk,” he says, harsh and forced out past the broken glass of his heart. Beau is looking at him now, glimmers of surprise and question rising out of her sorrow. He clears his throat, tries to soften his voice. “I am—sure you meant well. You seem like a good person. But you did not know him.” The memory of the Sour Nest surfaces, a man’s bloody body oozing and disintegrating into fungus and rot before their eyes, and bile rises in his throat.

“Don’t touch him,” Caleb repeats.

Caduceus’ eyes are keen on him, more so than any of his friends’. Caleb turns and walks away, back to their newly acquired cart. In the relative privacy in its shadow, he bends over and throws up.

It is a long, quiet trip back to Zadash.

* * *

The glaive slashes down once, and Caleb's heart seizes in his chest.

He chokes, tastes blood at the back of his mouth, raises his hand to cast something, _anything,_ please gods anything that would save Molly—

Molly, _his Molly_ , spits blood and Caleb's breath is stopped in his lungs, agonizing, useless.

One heartbeat.

The slaver grins.

Two beats.

The glaive sprays blood as it slams down.

Caleb falls to his knees.

_Empty._

He sways there, vision clouding, flashing cold. He's freezing. There's blood on his lips—is there? He's dizzy, there's pressure building in his chest, unbearable. He looks hazily across the field. The slaver's carts move away. They roll past his eyes and leave an unobstructed view of a crumpled purple-red body on the ground.

One heartbeat.

Pain slams into him as his heart stutters, beats again, clings to life. Caleb doubles over, dry-heaving, his hands scrabbling at his chest. Every breath feels like it's full of glass shards, ripping him apart inside. Every sluggish, unsure heartbeat pulses agonizing poison through his veins, and each time it stutters Caleb hopes, Caleb panics, _dear gods_ _please_ that it won't start again.

Two beats, three beats, four, and five sixandseveneightninetenfasterfasterpleasegods _molly_ —

Caleb sits bolt upright, gasping. His heart pounds rabbit-quick and irregular, a nauseating feeling of imbalance hammering in his chest. He retches, tasting bile. He's covered in cold sweat, shivering uncontrollably, constricted and held down and his heart is about to burst, if he doesn't get free if he—

He falls out of bed with a _thud_.

The clear, bodily jolt shakes his mind free. He's not on Glory Run Road. He's not facing down the Iron Shepherds. He's safe.

He's already lost Molly.

"Caleb?" Nott's creaky little voice breaks the quiet. "Caleb, are you alright? Is that you?"

He takes a deep breath—or tries to. It shudders away from him, he can't get an even breath, his head swimming and eyes blurring. He tries to say her name. His ears are ringing. He has no idea if he succeeds or if he chokes.

Distantly, he feels a small, clawed hand rubbing circles on his back. “I'm here, Caleb,” Nott's voice comes from as thousand miles away. “I'm here.”

* * *

Every alleyway of the city is painted in memories. Every corner he turns has Mollymauk just out of sight, every door might open to spill out his laughter. Caleb flees to the Archive, throws himself into his research. He tries to keep up a façade of normality. He doesn't think he succeeds, but he does better than Jester, so the group does not question him. Beau's sharp eyes linger on him. Nott has stopped poking at his feelings since Glory Run Road, but he suspects she's just waiting him out.

Caduceus’ eyes follow him sometimes. Perhaps he can see the wound in Caleb's soul. Perhaps he can sense him bleeding out.

Caleb's magic has not stabilized, either. Foolishly, he had hoped that killing Lorenzo would feel like closure. He casts very carefully, these days, lest the smallest firebolt become an inferno.

When Fjord asks them to explore a thread to the south, he packs his bag immediately.

* * *

Caleb falls in battle, and his vision darkens as water closes over him, and he thinks _maybe—_

He wakes up.

He goes down again, too far away, too late to shout for help, too fucking weak to—

Nott is patting his chest when he coughs awake. "Thank the gods for that necklace, eh?" she says weakly, and he can see her relief in the way she tucks Molly's periapt back into his shirt. He coughs more seawater, and doesn't answer her. He doesn't curse fate, or the gods, or Lorenzo, or even Pumat Sol and his creation for saving the wrong person. Not out loud, at least.

His vision goes black again and he drifts—

Fjord's grin is shaky but pleased as he tosses the empty potion bottle aside.

Caleb can't tell them to stop it. Let him go if it's his time to go. Maybe his soul is forfeit and he would end up somewhere awful. Maybe he would simply float into the Astral Sea, as the stories go.

Maybe other stories are true. Maybe he would see Mollymauk again.

He doesn't say any of this. He makes decisions he may not live to regret.

* * *

It’s Jester, of all people, who blows his cover. He doesn’t have much to offer her in the way of romantic advice, and even less when she unwittingly pulls the earth out from under him. “Caleb,” she says, and gives a sigh over her sketchbook. “Do you ever think about if you have a soulmate?”

Caleb thinks he manages to keep his face under control, but over Jester’s shoulder he spots Beauregard. She’s approaching them, three tankards in her hands, and _Göttern verdammt_ she definitely heard. She’s frozen there, staring at Caleb, stunned but calculating.

He takes a deep breath. “I have thought about it,” he says calmly. “It was a common sentiment, when I was growing up. Wondering who they might be.”

Jester sighs again. “I thought that maybe I would find somebody,” she murmurs, quiet and sad as she doodles. “When I left my mama, I hoped, you know, that out in the world I could meet them.”

Beau comes to their table then, and sets the drinks down. “No milk,” she says briskly, “but here, they had some kinda cider I thought you’d like, Jester.”

Caleb takes his ale from her, but instead of ducking behind it he pauses. “You know,” he says, “it’s not uncommon not to have a soulmate, at all. Ah, one in ten or so, I believe is the odds of it happening.”

Beau is staring intently into the side of his head. He ignores her. “But also, you are young, you have only in the last year left your home. It could take years. But it’s nothing to worry about.”

Eventually, Jester goes to bed, and Beau goes to get another drink and instead comes back with a bottle. This one smells a hell of a lot stronger than ale.

“Caleb,” she says, but he shakes his head.

“This sounds painful for both of us,” he mutters, tries for a joke, perhaps, but Beau’s face twists up in defense and pity and grief and _fuck_ , he’s an asshole.

“Tell me the truth,” she says.“You’re always pressing your hand to your chest like it hurts. You’ve been even more snappish, you don’t smile as much as you were starting to.” She picks up her cup and brings it to her lips, visibly bracing herself before she asks: “Was Molly your soulmate?”

Caleb drains his drink. It burns his throat, making him cough and gasp when he swallows. “I very much do not want to talk about this, Beauregard,” he chokes out.

Beau thumps him on the back. “Yeah, no, me neither. But, Caleb, man… how do you even know if you’re gonna, you know… be okay?”

He can’t help but laugh at her. “I am very sure that I’m not okay.”

She sighs quietly. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

She reaches for the bottle and fills their glasses again. “You told Nott yet?”

“ _Nein_. And I’m not going to.”

“Caleb—”

“She does not need this hurt from me, Beau,” Caleb snaps. “She will try to fix things, and there is _nothing_ to fix! This is going to be _broken_ in me forever, do you understand that?”

“Is that what’s been fucking up your magic?”

Caleb snatches his drink from her. He doesn’t answer, which of course for Beau is answer enough.

She sighs heavily. "Caleb, listen... okay, I'm only gonna ask once, and only because you won't tell Nott, and then we can... forget about it, maybe. Okay? Okay. Really... how are you doing?"

Caleb turns his glass in circles, pushing it round and round between his palms. “ _Forruhesturm_ ,” he says finally. “That is what it feels like. That’s—that’s all, lately. Hasn't gone away yet.”

Beau’s lips go thin in displeasure. “You know I don’t speak any Zemnian, man.”

“You should,” he says idly. “You’d like it, it’s very descriptive. You kind of just…” he picks up his hands, smacks one fist into his open palm. “Smash some words together to say what you are feeling, it’s very apt for you.”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “That doesn’t tell me what ‘forest-rum’ means.”

Caleb reaches past her for the bottle. “No, it doesn’t.”

* * *

“Molly,” Fjord says, and takes all the air in Caleb’s lungs with it. Caduceus blinks slowly at them, and Yasha turns away abruptly.

Later, he borrows Nott’s bottomless flask and makes his way up to the deck. She’s sleeping off the effects of that strange fruit, while Caleb is left wishing his buzz had lasted a little longer. At the time, he hadn’t thought about how much Molly would have enjoyed the experience. He wasn’t thinking about the falter in Fjord’s voice, the sharp intake of breath from Jester.

He finds Yasha in the spot on deck she seems to have claimed. He sits down beside her, takes a long pull from Nott’s flask, and then passes it over. Yasha doesn’t hesitate before accepting it.

For a long time, the two of them pass it back and forth in silence, looking out into the night across the water. It’s Yasha who breaks it, eventually. “Do you still think… there might be a chance?”

“I don't know,” Caleb says. His throat feels hot and tight, the alcohol not helping ease the sensation as much as he’d hoped. The wind whips across his face, snatching tears away from his eyes before they even form properly. “I never—I have studied, I have heard of certain spells, clerics of utmost devotion who could bring back the fallen. But I have no idea how we could—it is not my area of expertise, this business of gods and miracles.” He takes a deep breath. He feels like his lungs won't take in as much air as they used to. His body feels the wound in his soul, responds as if he is injured. In the weeks since they lost Mollymauk, the pain has not eased. He has simply learned to carry it better. Some days are easier than others, and those are the days he hates himself most of all.

Yasha doesn't look at him, which he appreciates. The two of them are getting quite good at ignoring each other's tears lately. “I don't know how to ask my god for that,” she says, almost too quietly for Caleb to hear her. “I already owe so much. I would give so much more to have them back, it's just… I don't know how. Jester makes it seem so easy, the way she asks for things, and… _poof_. But I don't have that.”

She takes another drink. Her voice wobbles a bit when she tells him, “You know, I know. About… you and him. Molly and you.”

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says quietly, “I know. He told me he—he was excited. He told you practically the moment we met.”

Yasha nods. She clears her throat, a sticky noise that Caleb politely ignores. “He loved you a lot,” she says, and Caleb closes his eyes. “He—yeah. He loved me. I haven't—I didn't get that a lot. Just once, I think, before Molly... he was special. And he told me he loved you, too.”

“It’s not something I ever thought we two would have in common,” Caleb says, and Yasha snorts.

Something about her words pierces him, though. It burrows, stuck in his mind now. He knows that he won’t like the answer. He knows it will hurt him further. Caleb takes a long, burning pull from the flask and forces himself to ask.

“Did he know?”

Yasha squints at him. “Molly knew a lot of things,” she says. “He also forgot a lot of things, all the time, so. What are you talking about?”

Caleb pulls his knees up to his chest. He wonders if Beauregard is awake, if she would notice if he snapped Frumpkin back to him. An owl is not as comforting as a cat, though. The texture of Frumpkin’s feathers is nothing like Molly’s hair under his fingers.

“Did he tell you—did Molly know that I love him?”

Yasha looks at him for a long moment. Caleb does not meet her eyes. Then she pulls the flask out of his hands and tips it back. He hears her swallow once, twice, three times.

She lowers her arm again and screws the cap back on. “Neither of us told him enough,” she says simply, and after that they sit in silence until the sun rises above the horizon.

* * *

Caleb turns the little amulet over in his fingers. “Selfish,” he mutters at himself. “Foolish. Better to keep the group safe, not just one squishy wizard.”

He lets the chain coil up in his palms. The periapt is warm against his skin, familiar. It seems to give tiny pulses, like a heartbeat, but that could just be a trick of Caleb’s imagination. It certainly doesn’t beat in time with his.

Caduceus is a friend and a fine ally, and probably needs a magical periapt more than Caleb does. It shouldn’t even have sentimental value. Molly only wore it for a month or so, it shouldn’t matter that Caleb got used to seeing him with it, that he ran the chain through his fingers when it was warm from Molly’s skin. It’s not as if this little enchantment carries anything of his soulmate with it.

But he thinks of giving it away, this last tangible piece of Mollymauk that he carries, and his throat closes up painfully.

He closes his hands around the necklace and leans his forehead against his fists. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, useless, pointless. No one is there to hear him.

* * *

Their feet hit the docks, and they all look at each other in a moment of disbelief, of panic, of desperate _I can’t believe that worked_ , and all at once they scrabble for disguises because they are not out of the woods yet.

Caleb finishes his spell, familiar gestures coming quick to his hands. Then he looks up at the group, and almost chokes.

It feels like he’s been shot, again. Standing in their midst, coat flaring and jewelry winking, is Mollymauk.

He thinks he makes a sound. His face must betray something, even as he tries to school it into cold focus. His vision blurs, starts fading grey at the edges. _It’s Jester_ , he tells himself. _Breathe. Breathe, damn you. It is only Jester._

She does not move like Molly does—did. Her voice is all wrong. Caleb’s reluctant lungs drag in a shuddering breath, finally. Molly is gone, he reminds him heart sternly. It gives a stutter in his chest, a lance of pain and dizziness that makes him stumble.

He can feel Nott’s worried gaze and Beauregard’s shrewd eyes on him, and he sidles up next to Fjord and avoids both of them. Beauregard has been a good friend, in her own way, and he can’t give her an excuse to tell the others about his situation. Especially Nott. Nott is—Nott is his dearest friend, and she already hurts too much on his behalf. He cannot bear to imagine the look on her face if Caleb were to tell her that the three of them watched his soulmate die.

No. The remains of his heart are Caleb’s own problem. He will bear it alone. It’s the least of what he deserves.

* * *

Somehow, they stumble onward together. Fjord uncovers secrets and power under the sea. Jester’s god proves elusive and mysterious as ever, but when she convenes with the other believers of the Traveler, Caleb sees something in her that makes him think she could one day work miracles. She remains the Jester they know and love, and Caleb admires that about her, that she can face terrible adversity and awe-inspiring power, and remain uncorrupted by either.

They help Caduceus, too, eventually. After everything he has been through with them, it’s only fair. His forest is a nightmare and a mystery, and they stumble through it with bad timing and sheer luck to see them through.

But they come out of it relatively unscathed. They even manage to reunite their friend with some of his family. It is always sad to say goodbye, but Caduceus takes his well-earned leave of the Mighty Nein and they promise they will visit.

None of them want to go back along Glory Run Road. There is work to be found in the north, so that is where they turn.

* * *

In the wreckage they leave of a white dragon’s lair, Beau unearths a scimitar of pale gold, like dust motes caught in a sunbeam. It shimmers when she twists it back and forth, sending a sheen of blue, green, and violet along the curved blade.

“Seems magic,” she calls out. She passes it over to Jester and continues sorting through their pile of loot.

Instead of adding it to Caleb’s Identify pile, Jester coos over the sword and swings it around. She’s not very graceful with it, more like a child playing pirates, but she beams happily.

“How do you think it works?” she muses, eyeing the blade. “Like, if it _is_ magic, would I just say, like, _go sword go!_ and it will do magic stuff?”

Fjord clears his throat. “It’s not like that, really, but if you just kinda concentrate on it for a second, like you’re casting a spell but—”

_Shwoom!_

Jester yelps, then laughs gleefully as bright blue light bursts out of the blade. Caleb throws up his hands to cast Shield, but the light passes harmlessly over all of them. He lowers his hands cautiously. Jester, Nott, and Caleb himself are all glowing slightly, faintly outlined with an intangible glitter.

“Wow!” Jester beams. “Holy crap that is so cool! Look at this thing!”

“Maybe we could put that down,” Caleb reminds her, “and I can tell you what exactly it does? That could have been very dangerous and I want to know what it can do.”

Jester skips over toward him, the sword gleaming gently in the blue light. She throws Fjord a warning glance before she hands it over. “Your sword already does really cool shit,” she tells him. “I’m gonna save this one, so don’t you go feeding it to your weird eyeball sword, okay?”

Caleb musters a little smile when she hands it over to him for his Identify spell. He swallows hard and does not ask what she is saving it for.

* * *

He opens his eyes, blinking hazily against the light streaming through the windows. His chest aches with the uneven rhythm of his heart. His hand lays stretched out in the cool sheets, seeking a warm body during the night.

He turns over, facing away from the empty spot. He curls up into a ball under the sheet and presses his hands against his sternum, eyes shut tight.

* * *

Eventually, the group makes their way back to Zadash. They have loose ends there, and it is the best place to acquire the contacts, supplies, and knowledge that they need without stepping foot in Rexxentrum. The city feels familiar, even as much as it has changed and adapted to the new climate of war and suspicion.

They all agree to keep a low profile, while they’re here. None of them want to draw the attention and the job offers of the Lawmaster again. They move away from their old haunt at the Leaky Tap and occupy rooms at the Song and Supper Inn, instead.

It is not their intention to stay for very long, so Caleb needs to make the most of his time near the Cobalt Soul’s vast library. He hasn’t found an answer to his magical problems yet, but thankfully he seems to be getting the hang of them. It’s been several weeks since he felt his magic stumble, or burst from him uncontrolled. It starts to feel safe to relax again.

They are preparing to leave again soon, so Caleb takes his leave of the group one afternoon to restock his magical supplies. He walks quickly through the steadily drizzling rain, pushing his way into the warmth of the inn just as the day falls to evening. He closes the door behind him, and freezes.

A familiar profile is there, leaning up against the bar with lithe, casual grace and a wicked, eager grin. He's too far away to hear the wrong accent come from that mouth, too far to sense the grounding tingle of Jester's magic seeping from Molly's illusory form. She's getting better at this disguise, though, so much better at his body language and mannerisms that Caleb's sad, stupid heart gives a leap at the sight.

He chokes it down, smothers the flame that still tries to burn bright in his chest at the very thought of Mollymauk, and marches through the tavern. He puts his hand on Jester's shoulder, pulling her around perhaps more firmly than he should, but her disguise is salt in a wound that will never heal and it makes him sharper, rougher than he wants to be with his little blue friend. “You are supposed to be upstairs,” he mutters, “not bandying about in disguise when we are trying to—”

Under the pressure of his hand, the tiefling spins toward him, surprise and joy blooming across achingly familiar features. Caleb's scolding dies on his lips as red eyes meet his and his soulmate looks back at him.

It feels like a punch, like flying, like a shock of cold water and stepping up to a warm hearth at the same time. The same feeling he's experienced only once before, the very first time he met Mollymauk Tealeaf’s gaze in another tavern, in what feels like another life.

“Caleb,” Molly breathes, and then Caleb has an armful of warm tiefling and a beautiful, relieved laugh in his ear and his head swims as though he's stopped breathing. He gasps, drags in a painful breath and he can smell Molly again, not a whiff conjured from grief and memory but real and warm and _home_. It feels like the first full breath he's drawn in months. Without conscious thought, his arms encircle Molly in return, tightening to what must be the point of pain but Molly doesn't complain. He's wrapped around Caleb and pressing kisses to his hair and one of them is shaking, or perhaps both of them are, but it doesn't matter. Caleb holds Molly tightly, holding them both together while they tremble, and buries his tears in Molly's collar and does not come up for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: " _Forruhesturm_ : the fugue state between a death and the funeral." Brought to you by steelneena giving me lots of sad German words and phrases to use :)
> 
> Thank you so much to the widomauk discord for encouraging me on this, especially Silk, and to warsawmouse for letting me include the Sunshine’s Kiss sword! The third and final chapter will go up on New Year’s Eve so I can round out the year with reunions and kisses.
> 
> PS: Check out the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/a.mackenzie13/playlist/68XqTxCuMIdnLayyDiQwBa?si=lN1MyMW8TgemqqWe4Acdxw) as well!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year have an absolutely bonkers amount of fluff
> 
> Mind the rating change please! This chapter includes some smut, and if you'd like to give it a pass just skip from "By the way Caleb pulls him into their room..." and pick up at "They finally decide on a job..."
> 
> update: there is art to go with this fic now! It's amazing and you can find it at the end of the chapter!

Caleb pulls away—not far, never far—just enough to take Molly’s face between his hands and stare at him. Molly’s hands fist into his coat and keep him close, not that Caleb is inclined to let go.

“You're alive,” he gasps. “You—how, _how_ —”

“I don’t know,” Molly says and he _laughs_. Gods, Caleb has missed that laugh so much he can’t breathe. He has to kiss Molly, he needs to taste that laugh again more than he needs air.

It’s not really a good kiss, all things considered: he’s pressing too hard, too desperate, teeth clacking and tears smearing between them. But Molly kisses back and Caleb feels himself coming alive again. Molly tastes faintly of beer and his lips are soft with familiar minty salve and Caleb breaks again. He leans his forehead against Molly’s and just looks at him, blurry through tears but so familiar and so, so dear.

“Gods,” Caleb says helplessly. He sweeps his thumb over Molly’s cheekbone. “Gods, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Molly laughs, helpless and bordering on hysterical. He smooths out the lapels of Caleb’s coat, adjusts his scarf around his neck. “Fucking hells,” he chuckles. His smile is shaky at best, but bright as ever. “I thought—gods, Caleb, I thought I’d never find you lot. I asked, I—hey, I got your note!” He hauls Caleb in again and he goes, willingly, joyfully, into another messy kiss. “Thank you. I’m fine, I promise, I remember all of you wonderful assholes, but thank you for it anyway.”

“Have you seen the others yet?” Caleb asks. He runs a lock of Molly’s hair through his fingers. It’s longer than he remembers, just a bit.

“No, you’re the first familiar face I’ve seen since—well, since.” A look of badly masked worry flashes across Molly’s face. “Are they alright? Yasha, Jester, Fjord? You got them out?”

“Yes, _ja_ , they’re fine,” Caleb assures him hurriedly. “I should… everyone is waiting upstairs, actually, we were going to plan our next move in the city. Yasha is here, even.” He laughs incredulously. “Gods, they’re going to be so happy to see you, _liebling_.”

“Me too,” Molly laughs, wobbly and relieved. He can’t seem to stop beaming and Caleb feels the same, as if his face might crack along disused smile lines if he goes on like this. But he can’t stop, and for the first time in a long time ( _he knows exactly how much time_ ) it doesn’t hurt even a little bit.

“Come on,” he says, but he can’t help but lean in and kiss Molly again, softer and more thorough than before. Molly’s hands cup his face firmly and keep him close as he kisses Caleb back with equal fervor. His tongue flicks out along Caleb’s bottom lip and if they progress much further they may well get thrown out of the inn, although Caleb isn’t sure he would care.

Molly is the one to pull away, taking in a sharp breath. His eyes are wide and shining and Caleb finds himself extremely distracted by the soft shine to Molly’s lips. “Come on,” Molly chuckles breathlessly. He pats Caleb’s cheek. “Time for this later, Mr. Caleb, hm?”

_Gods_ , that nickname sounds so different and so welcome, a balm on a wound he had almost stopped noticing. Caleb leans his forehead briefly against Molly’s and just breathes in the smell of lavender oil. “ _Ja_ ,” he says. “Okay, you’re right. Everyone should be upstairs.”

Molly doesn’t let go of his hand as Caleb leads them up to Jester and Beau’s room. Caleb knocks twice on the door before he pushes it open. “I have good news,” he says, and pulls Mollymauk in behind him.

Jester screams. She runs directly over and lifts Molly into the air, squeezing her arms around his waist. “It worked!” she shrieks. “It worked, it worked, it _worked!_ I can’t believe it did, I didn’t hear anything for so long I was afraid that it was never going to work!”

“ _What?_ ”

Jester spins around once with Molly in her arms, then sets him down again. He hugs her back, tucking her head under his chin and giving her a squeeze. “Jester, darling,” he says, “I missed you terribly. What do you mean by _it worked_?”

“My prayer to the Traveler,” she explains, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. Caleb exchanges a wide-eyed glance with Beau.

“Your magic is that powerful?” Caleb asks carefully. “When did this happen?”

“Oh no, it wasn’t _me_ ,” Jester says. “I can’t bring anybody back from the dead unless it’s been like a minute, so _don’t do that again_ ,” she adds, poking Molly in the chest with each word. He ruffles her hair. “No, I just asked,” she continues. “After I talked to those other clerics of the Traveler, and I was asking them about how _they_ would bring somebody back from the dead if they could, and they weren’t super helpful like at all, but they said that like once in a _crazy_ long time somebody’s cousin’s friend’s husband once heard about a real actual miracle like that just _happening_ because a cleric asked really well. _So_ I just asked the Traveler really, really nicely if we could please have Molly back soon, and apparently I’m _an awesome_ cleric for the Traveler because here he is! Isn’t that great!”

“ _Molly_ ,” Yasha says, and Molly steps away from Jester just in time to be swept into Yasha’s arms. He almost disappears in her embrace, his face buried in her shoulder.

Caleb feels like his heart is too big for his chest. There’s a sweet and breathless ache just behind his sternum seeing Molly back with them, seeing their little family reunited at last.

* * *

Molly can feel Yasha’s tears running into his hair, but he lets it happen. He’s going to cry and be cried upon today, and he’ll take it happily because he has his family back, and Yasha has him back and he’s so terribly sorry that he left her. He pats at her shoulders, mumbling soothing nonsense into her shawl.

After a long minute she pulls away and wipes her face. Molly tsks, reaching up to clean away the smeared makeup on her cheeks. He goes up on his tiptoes and kisses her forehead. “I’m right here, darling,” he murmurs, “not going anywhere again.”

He loops his tail around her wrist, reassuringly there as he turns back toward the rest of the Mighty Nein. “Gods, I missed you fuckers,” he says, followed by a grunt as the wind is knocked out of him at waist height.

“I’m sorry,” Nott says into his stomach. “I’m sorry, we tried, and we tried to do better because we knew you’d like that, and I’ve only stolen from grumpy people since you died and I didn’t steal anything from you I promise!”

Molly hugs her back, almost in disbelief. He and Nott had never really seen eye-to-eye. They’d had some laughs, gotten along well sometimes, but not consistently, not like this. He pats her gently on the back. “Well, that’s good,” he manages. “I—thank you, Nott. That’s—thank you.”

He looks up, searching for Caleb for some kind of explanation, but he only gets a small, sad smile in return. Beau is standing next to him, and she’s crying.

“Oh,” Molly says. He summons up a grin, the one that makes her call him obnoxious, and holds out his arm. “Beau-Beauregard, did you miss me too?”

He staggers back into Yasha when Beau flies into him. She definitely punches him, he can feel his arm go numb, but her other arm is locked around his neck and her face is buried in his shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she mumbles, and then Molly feels another thump as Jester hits them as well, and her tail whips out and drags Fjord in. Yasha’s arms wrap around them from behind him, and Molly looks out from the center of a sudden group hug. Caleb is standing back against the wall, watching Molly back. He has one hand clasped around his own wrist, fingers resting at his pulse. Molly aches for him, for his lonely soulmate. He frees one hand to hold out to Caleb.

Caleb hesitates, but he comes closer when Molly wiggles his fingers insistently. He doesn’t join the hug. But he slips his fingers through Molly’s and squeezes tight.

* * *

It’s long past midnight when they all finally separate for the night, and only then because all of them are yawning uncontrollably and Beau starts falling asleep sitting up. Jester suggests a team sleepover, which makes Caleb’s skin crawl, but luckily the rooms are too small to be reasonable. Molly also gently laughs off Jester’s eager invitation for him to stay with the girls, hair-braiding included, saying that he should get his money’s worth on the room he’s paid for. Caleb doesn’t miss the quick flick of Molly’s tail in his direction, either.

Yasha gives Molly another long, squishing hug. But she sets him back down and gives him a kiss on the head, and her eyes meet Caleb’s across the room and he knows she understands.

He’ll explain everything— _they’ll_ explain everything to the group eventually. Caleb wants to confide this to them, now. Getting Molly back is a gift—from Jester, from her god, from the universe—and he does not want to squander it or hide it. Molly deserves to live in the light, and Caleb trusts these people. He loves these people. He wants to be able to hold Molly’s hand and kiss his soulmate in front of them and feel joy because of it. He thinks he’s ready for that.

Before that happens, though, he gives Nott a hug goodnight, and leaves the girls’ room. He doesn’t go to the room he and Fjord have been sharing, though. Instead he follows the quick flip of a purple tail disappearing around the corner.

He gives a soft knock to the only door in the hall left ajar. Molly’s voice floats through, and Caleb’s heart is in his throat as he steps inside and closes the door behind him.

Molly is just finishing his evening ritual, placing his swords—once again both cheap carnival glass—in his coat and folding them away. He takes Caleb’s breath away, laid bare of his jewelry and sparkle and glamour and just Molly, as he is. He’s beautiful any way he presents himself, every way he dresses up and shines for the world. Caleb can hardly believe that he gets to see him like this, soft and vulnerable and smiling gently, almost shyly, as he sets his coat and swords aside.

Molly stands up gracefully, no evidence of the creaking knees or locked-up muscles that plague Caleb when he crouches like that. His tail swishes behind him, drawing quick little circles in the air, and Caleb finds himself cataloguing its movements in the back of his mind, fleshing out what he already knows about Molly’s mannerisms and unconscious tells. Gods, he missed little things like the emotional state of Molly’s tail. He missed everything so much.

“We should probably talk about some things,” Molly begins. He quirks a little grin. “Or we could put that off, and you could hug me instead?”

“I need,” Caleb stutters out, his heart pounding and catching in his throat, “Mollymauk, I need—”

“I know.” Molly's hand presses against his own chest, that ache that's echoed in Caleb's for weeks. “I know, dearest, Caleb, come here—”

He's already there, stumbling close and pressing as close as he can get. Molly's arms hold him close, warm and real and alive, and Caleb feels close to breaking down again. He shoves his hands under Molly's shirt, seeking skin and warmth, needing closeness in a way he's never felt before.

“Easy, love,” Molly whispers, and it's quick work to guide an unresisting Caleb to the bed. Molly’s the one who gets them out of their coats, boots, belts. Caleb tugs insistently at Molly's shirt, as well, and he takes it off and lets it fall to the floor.

The scar is still there. It's different from Molly's other scars, thicker and puckered and still angry magenta rather than faded silvery-lilac. Caleb puts his hand over it, feels his heart thump unevenly with memory.

“I'm here,” Molly reminds him. He puts his hand over Caleb's, slowly pulls them both onto the bed. Caleb follows where he tugs, lies down and accepts the blanket that Molly pulls over them. As soon as Molly settles down, he takes Caleb in his arms again and burrows close.

It's like nothing he's ever experienced before, feeling their hearts settle together again. With each passing beat, the inescapable pain in Caleb's chest eases. He breathes in, slowly and painlessly, scenting lavender and sweat and warm tiefling skin. Molly's arms are locked just as tight around him, with one hand stroking slowly up and down Caleb's clothed back. There's a quiet little rustling sound as Molly's tail swishes back and forth under the covers.

“This should not be possible,” Caleb whispers. “What Jester did—her god did—is beyond anything I have ever seen. I have only read about miracles, about this kind of… I don’t know what to call it, except divine intervention, a once in a _lifetime_ occurrence, _if_ that—”

“I’ll have to thank her again,” Molly says, brushing a kiss across Caleb’s forehead. The familiar touch ignites an aching sweetness in his chest, and Caleb clenches his eyes shut and holds tighter to Molly. He feels a loose, warm coil wrap around his shin, and the tip of Molly’s tail taps against his ankle. _One-two-three, one-two-three_ , rhythmic little taps that Caleb can count and match his breathing to.

Gradually, he relaxes in Molly’s arms.

“I don’t know a lot,” Molly says quietly, “but I’ve heard you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and this feels like the kind of thing we say _thank you_ for and move on. No pact. No favors, no…” he chuckles. “You know, I’m honored that Jester wanted me back so much she’d ask her god for a gift. That’s not something you hear about every day.”

“No, it isn’t.” Caleb runs his open hand down Molly’s spine, back up, back down again. He can feel his heartbeat calming, _settling_ once again into rhythm with Molly’s and taking the pain he’s carried away with it.

_I believe in second starts,_ his own voice whispers back to him. He has been given a second chance. Not the one he was looking for, but one that he won’t take for granted.

There were so many things he couldn’t bring himself to write down at Mollymauk’s grave. He’s been given the chance to say them.

“I love you,” he declares, and his voice shakes but it doesn’t hurt the way he thought it would to say it out loud.

Molly’s arms tighten around him, and he feels the tail _tap-tap_ excitedly before Molly buries his face in Caleb’s hair and gets his body under control. Caleb smiles. He can still feel Molly’s heartbeat kick up a notch.

“I love you, too,” Molly whispers back. Caleb can feel him shaking a little.

He presses one more kiss to the hollow of Molly’s throat. “I have so much to tell you,” he says, “but that is the most important. I love you, Mollymauk Tealeaf.” He closes his eyes, finally at peace enough to rest. “I plan to tell you again in the morning.”

* * *

Caleb sleeps better than he has in a long time. He even wakes gently for once, to the feeling of delicate fingers running through his hair. He cracks his eyes open, and it takes a moment before the fuzzy purple blur in front of him resolves into Mollymauk, already awake and looking fondly at him in the grey light of very early morning.

“Good morning, Caleb,” he says, soft and utterly shattering. Caleb feels his breath hitch, and he reaches up to catch Molly’s hand in his own.

“I’m so glad this was not a dream,” he whispers.

Molly grins at him and leans forward, knocking their foreheads lightly together. “Me, too, darling.”

Caleb closes the distance between them and kisses him, morning breath be damned. He cups Molly’s cheek and keeps the kiss soft, just a gentle press of lips, then lets them part again.

They should be getting up. Sooner or later, their friends will wonder where they are.

Caleb sighs as he swings out of bed and reaches for his outer layers. Today he would have actually enjoyed staying in bed a while longer.

Molly grumbles but follows suit, pulling his discarded shirt carefully on over his horns. His gaze lingers over a thick scar at the side of Caleb’s neck, still pink and newly-healed. They’ve all gained new scars since they lost Molly—reckless, brazen, those months of running headlong into danger because they could not bear to stop and let their pasts catch them.

Molly reaches out, carefully so that Caleb has plenty of time to pull away. His fingers wander gently across the scar, down his collarbone, until they twist carefully through the necklaces that Caleb wears all the time, even in his sleep. Without being told, Molly doesn’t pull at the old, tough cord that holds Caleb’s amulet. Instead, he runs the chain of the periapt through his fingers, and gives Caleb a little smile. “You kept it.”

Caleb fumbles for the clasp at the back of his neck. “Oh, _ja_. It’s high time you had it back.”

Molly’s hands hold his still all of a sudden. “Keep it,” he says with a little smile. “It suits you, you know.”

Caleb frowns at him. He clasps the periapt in his hands, and his stomach churns with long nights of guilt and loss. He thinks he can taste the salt of sea air and tears, and his throat burns like he’s just swallowed Nott’s awful liquor. “I don’t— _nein_ , it’s yours, you should take it back.” He clears his throat. “What if we run into trouble, hm? You’ll need it.”

Molly’s smile has slipped away. “It looks like you might need it more, if this is any indicator.” He points back to the scar at Caleb’s neck, one eyebrow raised.

Caleb shakes his head. He manages to get it undone, and presses it into Molly’s palm. He hopes Molly doesn’t notice how badly his hands are shaking.

Molly’s jaw is set stubbornly. “Has it saved your life? Even just once, did it save your life while I was gone?”

“That’s not—yes, it did, but that is not the—”

“You need it more than I do, then, unless you’ve seriously stepped up your combat durability in the—”

“ _Fucking_ —Mollymauk, I’m not going to watch you get hurt without at least some kind of—”

“Just keep the stupid necklace, Caleb, and I’ll get something else, it doesn’t matter what—”

“ _I cannot lose you again!_ ” Caleb shouts, and Molly’s eyes go wide.

Caleb swallows hard. He takes in a shaking breath and then lets it out, running his shaking hand through his hair. “It _does_ matter. You have no idea—I don’t blame you, of course I do not blame you, but you have no idea what it was like, Molly, what it’s like to lose your soulmate. And I—”

“ _Soulmate?_ ” screeches a voice from the door, and Caleb and Molly both whip around. Molly lunges faster than Caleb can react, and he yanks open the door to reveal Beau, Jester, and Nott all crouching with their ears turned to the door.

The five of them freeze like that, a tableau of disbelief and surprise. Then, abruptly, Beau turns completely around and walks quickly down the hallway out of sight.

"We were just coming to wake Molly up," Jester blurts out, "but then we heard voices and we got worried and—and—"

Caleb takes a deep breath. Then another one, feeling himself start to panic. What to say, how to fix this, how to undo it, _should_ he wish it undone—

Molly’s hand presses firmly against Caleb’s chest. He gasps, realizing that he’d accidentally held his breath. Their heartbeat thumps in his chest, and he’s surprised at how slow and steady it is.

He looks up at Molly. The tiefling’s red gaze is calm and unfazed. “You don’t have to answer anything,” he says, voice pitched low. “Caleb. It’s still your choice, and you don’t have to—”

“I do,” Caleb mutters. He breathes in, out, in again, trying to calm himself down. Molly’s thumb rubs a tiny circle against his shirt.

“I didn’t tell anyone, after you died,” he admits, and he knows by the sad downturn of Molly’s mouth that he’d already known. “It—Nott deserves to know. They all do, and—and you deserve not to hide anymore, Molly, I made you hide the things you felt for so long and then—”

“You didn’t _make_ me do anything, darling,” Molly cuts him off. He presses a quick kiss to Caleb’s forehead. “It’s your choice. Do you want me here or out?”

“Give—give us a moment, please,” he sighs. “Nott and I should talk.” He hesitates, then adds, “If, ah, you tell Jester about our situation, and you can answer some of her more… interesting questions, I would be grateful.”

“Of course.” Molly pats his chest and steps away.

Caleb catches his hand before he can leave. Without saying anything, he presses the periapt back into Molly’s palm. He curls Molly’s fingers down over it, and folds his own hands over the loose fist.

Molly looks at him for a long moment, and Caleb keeps his eyes on their hands. The golden chain sways gently back and forth between them.

Finally, Molly reaches up and pats the back of Caleb’s hand. Slowly, he lets go of Molly’s hand, and lets out a long breath as Molly fixes the chain around his neck. It looks good there, back where it belongs.

Then the door clicks shut behind Molly and Jester, and Caleb is facing his oldest friend, with no idea what to say.

Nott seems fidgety and quiet, too. She stays where she is near the door, twisting her fingers together.

Caleb sighs and sinks back onto the bed. He pats the space beside him, and waits while Nott climbs up and settles, neither of them looking at each other.

Nott, of course, is the braver of them. “So… so you’ve got a soulmate, then?”

“ _Ja_.”

“And you’re _sure_ it’s Mollymauk?”

He smiles a little at the skepticism in her voice. “I’m very sure, Nott. It’s… hard to explain, but it was very obvious, once it happened.”

She frowns. “So, did you know right away? All the way back at the carnival?”

Caleb nods. Nott looks down at her hands.

His throat feels tight. “Nott, I didn’t mean to lie to you. I’m sorry.”

Nott shakes her head. “No, no, it’s—we never need answers from each other, you know? You can always tell me things, you don’t _have_ to, I mean. Your business is your business, so is mine, that’s how—just—”

She turns abruptly and throws her arms around his middle. Caleb freezes for a second. He had not expected immediate forgiveness, let alone affection. He lowers his arm around her shoulders and hugs her close.

“That must have been so terrible for you,” Nott’s voice comes out, muffled in his shirt. “I—and I had no idea, we were at sea and doing all that crazy shit for so long after Molly died and none of us _helped_ you at all—”

“Nott,” Caleb says, alarmed, “Nott, no, _spatz_ , I don’t—I do not blame you, Nott, there is no way you could have known. I was—I did not want to tell you, I did not want you to worry.”

“You were in pain, Caleb. I could have helped.”

Caleb runs his hand gently up and down her back. “There was nothing to help, Nott. That is why I didn’t tell you. I could not be fixed, and it would have just hurt you to know that.”

Nott sniffs quietly. She squeezes his waist once more, then pulls away to sit upright. She wipes her nose on her bandages. “Okay. Alright, okay.” She looks up at him. “You’re okay now, though, right? Your—your magic and everything, maybe the nightmares, all that is better?”

Caleb pauses. “I—Nott, I haven’t actually tried anything since—” he frowns. “I need to ask… it’s been weeks since I noticed having trouble with magic. I thought that I was just getting used to it, but…”

He puts out his hands, flicks his fingers to summon his lights. The spell flows effortlessly, four globules of light rolling off his fingertips without hesitation, without freezing cold or stabbing pain.

“Oh,” Caleb breathes out. He looks down at Nott, and sees a tremulous grin split her face.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she says, and pats him on the knee.

Caleb lets the lights drop, and scoops Nott into a proper hug. “Thank you,” he mumbles, “for everything, my dearest friend. I would not have made it this far without you, so thank you.”

Nott hugs him back, and scritches her short claws through his hair, and Caleb feels more right with his world than he has in a very long time.

It feels like it’s much later in the day by the time a knock comes at their door. Caleb has let Nott braid his hair once again, weaving little dried flowers into it. Beau pokes her head in, and the look of trepidation on her face visibly relaxes when she sees them in this familiar arrangement.

“Hey,” she says. “Nott, you still want to come down to the Pentamarket with us? Jester’s run herself out of questions for now and she remembered that she’s out of donuts.”

Nott pokes one more flower stem into Caleb’s hair, then pats him on the head. “Yeah, I’m ready.” She hops down from the bed, and gives Caleb one more long look. He smiles at her and lifts up his book to show off.

“I’ll stay here today, I think,” he assures her. “Go on, have fun.” _I will be here when you get back_ , he doesn’t have to say. _This will not make me run._

Not long after the girls have left, the door creaks open again. Mollymauk pokes his head in, looking almost sheepish. Caleb feels it too, the way his breath comes easier as soon as his soulmate is back in his sight, and it should feel ridiculous. Part of him, logical and cold, says that he can feel his own stabilized heartbeat and that should be more than enough reassurance.

But other parts of him, voices softened and nourished by his time with the Mighty Nein and all the love they will not let him discard, tell him that it has been so very, very long for both him and Molly. That it is alright to want this. It is alright to have it.

"Please come here," he says quietly, and in the span of a breath his arms are full of Molly. He wraps around him tightly, burying one hand in Molly's hair and pressing his face into soft violet curls. Molly’s hair smells like floral soap, fresh from the baths. Caleb spends a long moment like that, with his eyes closed, just breathing in the comforting scent.

“How did it go?” Molly asks softly. His tail curls around Caleb’s ankle, warm and grounding.

“It was… okay.” Caleb lets out a long breath. “I have no idea what I was expecting but… I am glad. Nott is important to me. I am glad now that she knows.”

Molly hums contentedly. “Jester had lots of fun questions, and I distracted her from the personal ones,” he says. “She’s happy for us. It’s pretty nice.”

Caleb thinks about that for a minute. “It is,” he agrees slowly. “Well. I still don’t—I don’t like to be the center of attention, you know that, but… I don’t want to pretend anymore that we are not… what we are. Everyone knows, anyway, I suppose, except for—”

“Except for Fjord!” Molly cackles. “Oh, please, let’s not tell him. Let’s see if he notices. _Please_.”

Caleb feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You are a menace,” he murmurs, and _oh_ but it hurts in a good, clean way to say that again after so long. He feels Molly’s little jump, the way he squeezes Caleb just a little, and knows that he feels it as well. It’s been too long.

“I missed you.” It slips out of him, a whisper that feels like letting go of a weight on his chest.

Molly’s arms wind more firmly around him. “I missed you, too,” he murmurs. “But I’m back. I’m here, you’re here. That’s important.” He drops a kiss against Caleb’s shirt, not bothering to move to seek out a more convenient spot. It’s cute, such a casually _Molly_ thing to do that Caleb smiles helplessly at him.

“You might be right. I’m very glad you’re here, _schatz_.” He runs his fingers over Molly’s hair, tests out a soft name that he’d only let slip once or twice before. It feels nice to say out loud.

"You never explained to me what that means," Molly murmurs. “ _Schatz._ You’ve said that to me before.”

Caleb turns and presses his lips to the crown of Molly’s head. “It’s Zemnian,” he says. “It’s, ah…” He reaches up and presses Molly’s wandering hand against his chest. “It’s an endearment, like, ah… you have called me, ah, darling and such, you know.”

Molly tips his head up, grinning tenderly. “Aw, you call me by sweet names? I thought it was probably Zemnian for _trouble._ ”

“Actually, translated into Common, _Schatz_ means ‘treasure,’” Caleb says casually, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Molly’s tail whip in the air. He squeezes Molly’s hand lightly. “Well, it seems fitting.”

The grin softens into something fond and glowing, and Molly leans up and touches a kiss to the corner of Caleb’s mouth. “I love you,” he says, and it is overwhelming but so, so satisfying that Caleb can say “ _Ich liebe dich_ ,” in return.

* * *

They postpone their plans to leave the city now that Molly is back with them. There is so much to tell him, so much to catch up on and savor about his return to their group. None of them want to rush or push their resettling dynamics as a whole. Zadash is full of frivolous errands to run and petty jobs to accomplish, anyway. The war looms, but it is far enough away still and the people of Zadash go about their business much as usual.

Molly gets a new tattoo in the interim. He doesn’t have much coin to his name, having stuck to lying low and picking up odd, interesting jobs here and there. But one day Nott notices him throwing longing glances toward a tattoo parlor, and she takes his hand and all but drags him inside. She and Beau end up bickering over who’s going to pay for it, while Molly laughs at them as a half-elf artist spills snapdragons and ivy and wisteria down his shoulder and chest. It doesn’t cover up the deep red scar in the center, not yet, but Molly looks very pleased with the effect. He’s relaxed throughout the process, chatting happily with the artist, but Caleb sits next to him with a book in one hand and Molly’s fingers squeezing the other.

Hours slide into days, until they have been together again for over a week and Jester realizes that none of them have purchased new clothing in the city this time around. Privately, Caleb thinks that she’s really putting off showing up at the Gentleman’s bar again. It’s very like Jester to cook up extravagant excursions that take them far away from the Evening Nip, but he cannot blame her. He can’t imagine how unsettling it would be to set out seeking one’s father, only to find out he’s probably the head of a crime ring and not some romantic fairy-tale material. He’s not surprised that she is reluctant.

He is, however, reluctant to go clothes-shopping with her just to pass the time. He feels that he’s justifiably wary of what Jester might force upon him if he gives her the slightest opportunity.

“I need more paper and ink,” he excuses himself when she invites him along. “I, ah, still have severals spells that I want to add to my book, and I have not been back to Pumat’s for some time.”

"Alright, Caleb, you can go be boring and get more _paper_ while Molly and Yasha and I go to the Tri-Spire!" Jester exclaims. She latches onto Molly's arm, her tail waving like an excited cat's. "We're gonna go shopping!”

Caleb freezes. Logically, he knows that everything will be just fine. He needs his magical supplies, and Jester and Molly should go have their fun in a fancy shop. There's nothing wrong with that. He knows that even if they were to encounter some danger in the safest district in Zadash, Jester is an accomplished cleric now, favored by her deity and armed with diamonds. He knows that in normal circumstances, Mollymauk can take care of himself, that he has also grown stronger in the time they spent apart. Yasha would not allow any harm to come to either of them. Intellectually, he can find no reason for his hands to go instantly cold as his brain starts to cycle through his prepared spells, searching for a threat, for something to cast at that will make this feeling go away, that will save him, keep his family safe—

Distantly, he is very aware of the irrationality of his reaction. But everything is painfully bright and crystal-clear around him, and he has no idea how to make it stop. He sees his friends carry on their conversation, but he can't hear them over the ringing in his ears. He can see Mollymauk put his hand on Jester's arm, whisper something in her ear while he gently disentangles himself.

Caleb feels rooted to the spot as Jester chivvies the Mighty Nein toward the door, moving away from their breakfast to face the day. He only moves when he feels a warm hand on his elbow.

"Caleb," Molly's voice murmurs in his ear, "love, take a deep breath for me, if you can. Focus on me, hm? Look at me."

Caleb can't take his eyes away, is the problem. He doesn't want to let Molly out of his sight, no matter how ridiculous the feeling is. If he looks away he might lose him again forever.

Deft lavender hands scoop up his own unresponsive ones, holding his palm up against Molly's chest. He can feel warm skin under his hand, damn Mollymauk's inability to lace up his shirt properly. His heartbeat is rabbit-quick under Caleb's hand.

"It's alright, Caleb," Molly croons. His free hand rubs slow circles in Caleb's back, firm and patient. His chest rises and falls evenly, exaggerated deep breaths for Caleb to match his own short, choked gasps to. Caleb shudders, his whole body prickling with goosebumps, and tries to follow Mollymauk's lead.

Slowly, slowly, he can feel their heartbeat calm.

"There," Molly murmurs. "We're alright, Caleb. I'm here. We're fine." He reaches up and brushes the hair out of Caleb's face. "Do you want me to stay with you? I'm sure the Invulnerable Vagrant has some new interesting things for me to try on, hm?"

Caleb captures Molly's hand, presses it to his cheek. Like this, he gets a strong whiff of the lavender oil that warms at Molly's wrists. It's soothing.

" _Nein_ ," he answers. "Don't stand Jester up on my account. I'm sorry, that was—" he takes a deep breath, and it only shudders a little this time. "I did not expect that."

Molly leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead. He moves their twined hands from Molly's scarred chest to press firmly against the layers covering Caleb's heart. "You can feel me right here," Molly promises. He squeezes Caleb's fingers once, then gently disentangles his hand. His tail flicks up, tracing a comforting line down Caleb's side.

Their matched heartbeat is calm and steady once again in Caleb's chest. He turns his head to press a kiss to Molly's palm, then releases him.

"Thank you," he murmurs. He manages a little smile. "Come on. Jester is surely waiting for you."

Molly brushes a kiss at Caleb’s temple. “It’s gonna be worth it,” he purrs, a grin spreading across his face.

Caleb raises an eyebrow at him. “Menace.”

Molly grins and steals one more kiss. “Always.”

* * *

It’s nice to spend the day with the girls again. Jester has made herself at home in Zadash, and she knows the perfect path to take from the Pentamarket for breakfast sweets all the way to the expensive and raunchy Tri-Spire shops.

He and Yasha don’t need to say much, and that’s normal. He likes being able to just lean back and rest against her and know that she’s there. She isn’t interested in shopping for herself, but she’s very patient with Jester and Molly and helpfully carries Molly’s bags for him.

He takes them to one more stop when the get back to the Pentamarket. With money borrowed from Jester and a clear idea of what he wants, it’s not difficult to describe to Pumat what he needs. They almost miss dinner with the rest of the group, but make it back just in time for Nott to regale Molly with the tale of the _fluffernutter_ plan and for him to express amazement that they’re all still alive.

He sneaks his tail around Caleb’s knee, and catches a small smile out of the corner of his eye.

When everyone heads upstairs for the night, Caleb reaches for his hand first. Molly twines their fingers together and follows.

He feels something almost like butterflies in his stomach as Caleb takes him upstairs. It’s been a while since he tumbled into bed—it’s been since he met Caleb, in fact. They’ve slept in the same bed every night since they reunited, but nothing other than kissing has transpired, nothing more than a few wandering hands. But the way Caleb looks at him, like that night in Hupperdook when he’d pressed Molly up against a door and kissed him out of his mind, makes it impossible not to wonder.

He _wants_. He’s not a stranger to wanting, from spontaneous small desires to the flame that he’s been carrying for Caleb for months. He wants to hold Caleb close and give him everything, make him feel good in every way imaginable. He wants to be pinned and fucked into the mattress, he wants to see how pretty Caleb is sucking cock, he wants soft nights of slow intimacy in any way he can have them. He wants time for all of it, a lifetime of it. He wants everything with Caleb.

By the way Caleb pulls him into their room and kisses him breathless, he might stand a chance of getting it.

He guides Caleb over to the bed, breaking the kiss, and for a moment he just holds Caleb’s face between his hands. Caleb’s eyes are intent and sharp, alight with desire and what Molly’s coming to recognize as love. He keeps ahold of that gaze as he shrugs off his coat, pulls at the laces of his shirt. His belt slides free with a slick swish of leather, and that’s as far as he gets before Caleb tugs him closer by his beltloops and kisses him hungrily.

Caleb kisses with a singleminded focus that drives Molly wild. He’s seen that focus and intensity turned toward spells, to puzzles and books, but to have it all turned on him is dizzying. Caleb’s hands run up his bare chest, mapping his ribs and cataloguing every shiver that Molly makes. His thumb brushes across Molly’s nipple, sending a little shock of pleasure thrumming through him. Molly gasps, and Caleb presses his advantage, walking Molly backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he lets himself topple backward.

He looks up at Caleb, already feeling breathless. Caleb leans down and steals another kiss, quick and sweet, before his hands slide teasingly down Molly’s thighs. He tugs at the boots, and Molly can’t help the little laugh that escapes him.

“Let me help you with those,” he offers, and in short order they leave the rest of their clothing on the floor.

Having Caleb’s bare skin against his is everything he’s wanted. He tips them back onto the bed and pulls Caleb closer, slides his hands up his chest. He’s determined to find every spot that drives Caleb crazy. He has the time for it, now.

“Gods, I’ve dreamed about this,” he sighs, and hears a hitch in Caleb’s breath.

He leans back, and catches sight of a worrisome shine in Caleb’s eyes.

“Hey,” Molly says, trying not to be alarmed. He reaches up and brushes his thumb under Caleb’s eye. “Are you okay?”

“ _Ja_ , it’s fine, I’m—” Caleb shakes his head. He swipes the back of his hand across his face. “Gods, I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Hey, no,” Molly croons. He fits his hands on either side of Caleb’s face, rubbing his thumbs gently through his scruffy beard. “Caleb, dear heart, what on earth are you sorry for?”

Caleb closes his eyes, leaning into Molly’s touch, and it makes Molly melt a little more. “I’m ruining things,” he mutters. “This is, this should be perfect, you deserve for this to be perfect and this isn’t—”

“Caleb,” Molly breathes. He leans up, presses his lips to the tip of Caleb’s nose. Blue eyes flicker open in surprise, and Molly smiles at him. “I love you,” he declares, soft and more sure than any other truth he’s said in his life. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, dearest, it’s with you. We don’t have to go any further, either, I’d be just as happy to hold your hand and fall asleep, as long as it’s you. That’s all I want. I just need you.”

Caleb slides his hand into Molly’s hair and kisses him, deep and thorough until warmth is sweeping through his veins again. “I missed you,” he breathes when they part, just barely enough space between them for words.

Molly cups the back of Caleb’s head, presses their foreheads together for a moment. “I’m sorry I left you,” he confesses, quiet and fragile in the air between them. Caleb kisses him again, fiercer this time, tugging Molly closer until they’re pressed together, one long line of their bodies tangled up in each other. Molly shivers and presses up, rolls them over until he has Caleb underneath him.

He breaks the kiss, panting lightly. “Tell me what you want, love,” he rasps. He finds one of Caleb’s hands with his own, tangles their fingers together. “You’ve waited long enough.”

Caleb reaches up and tucks a lock of hair back over Molly’s horn. His fingertips trail back along the base of his horn, sending pleasant shivers down Molly’s spine. It’s a confusing sort of feeling, almost arousing and almost ticklish, but he likes it. He likes Caleb’s hands on him just about anywhere.

“I want _you_.” Caleb says it like a confession, like frustration at the inadequacy of the common tongue. “I want everything, Mollymauk, I want a chance to try everything with you.” He pulls Molly's head back down, kissing his face, all across this forehead and cheeks and everywhere he can reach until Molly is laughing, smiling until his cheeks hurt because he loves this ridiculous man.

“But, ah, if I remember correctly,” Caleb goes on, “you mentioned riding me, once.” Molly's delight must show on his face, in the excited swish of his tail, because Caleb breaks into a smile. “I would very much like that, _liebling._ I want to be able to see your face.”

“Caleb,” Molly murmurs, can’t contain the fondness in his heart. He wiggles deliberately, shifting his hips against Caleb’s until he drags a strangled sound out of the man. He grins down at him, then leans down and pecks Caleb’s cheek. “Hold on right here while I grab something from by bag.”

Caleb snorts. “I have to tell you, Mollymauk, I am not at all surprised by the things you carry with you.”

Molly throws him a wink. He brings the little vial back to bed and swings his leg over Caleb’s hips. Even in the low light, he can see the deep flush that creeps across Caleb’s face and neck, edging down toward his chest.

He presses the vial into Caleb’s hand. “You good?” he murmurs.

Caleb kisses him swiftly. “Let me know what you enjoy,” he says, and then the soft pop of the cork sends a shiver of anticipation up Molly’s spine.

He leans in and kisses Caleb’s lips, then his cheek, then nuzzles at his scruffy jawline as Caleb’s slick fingers tease over his hole. Molly shudders, nudging back just a bit to usher him along. Caleb murmurs something in his ear, Zemnian or nonsense words, and eases the first finger inside.

Molly lets out a quiet moan at the feeling. It’s satisfying and teasing at the same time after going so long with only his own hands for pleasure, and knowing that it’s _Caleb_ only heightens the rush. He rocks back against Caleb’s hand, encouraging, wanting deeper and more.

“Don’t rush, _schatz_ ,” he hears, and he buries his face in Caleb’s shoulder as he feels a second finger rubbing gently against him. Caleb’s far more patient than he is, steadily working just the first finger until Molly nips at his shoulder in retaliation, and Caleb lets out a tiny laugh and obliges him.

Molly raises his head and kisses him again, trading gasps as Caleb opens him up, clever fingers stretching and teasing until Molly is grinding down on his lap, threatening to send them both over the edge too soon. “I’m good,” he gasps, “Caleb, come on, please—”

Molly fumbles for the vial, manages to get enough on his hand without dropping it. He wraps his hand around Caleb’s cock and gets a beautiful strangled sound out of him. He gives Caleb a few strokes, too slow to be cursory and most certainly getting in a little teasing of his own. Caleb’s fingers leave him, and he raises himself up on shaky thighs, reaching back to grasp the headboard with his free hand.

“You ready, love?” he checks, waits for a flustered nod before he guides Caleb’s cock into place and sinks down.

He tries to watch Caleb’s face, watch the sweep of pleasure that goes across his features as Molly rocks down on him, slowly taking his cock. Caleb’s hips twitch up to meet him, and _fuck_ but it’s been so long and it’s almost overwhelming. Caleb’s hands steady him, clasped firmly at his hips.

He lets out a shuddering breath as he finally settles in the cradle of Caleb’s hips. “Fuck,” he gasps quietly, “ _Caleb_ —” He rocks, just a small movement, and groans at the sensation. Gods, it’s everything he wanted, that wonderfully deep, full feeling accompanied by Caleb’s racing heartbeat echoed in his chest. He loves this man. He’s shivering, pleasure coursing through his body and adoration singing in his heart.

“Molly, _scheiße_ , _liebling_ , _bitte_ —”

_Fuck_ but hearing Zemnian in bed is even better than Molly had dared hope. He grips the headboard tightly and pushes up, slowly, until just the head of Caleb’s cock is in him and Caleb’s fingers clench and tighten at his hips. He hopes they’ll leave bruises.

Molly reaches down and clasps one of Caleb's hands tightly in his. He brings them up, over his ribs, over the fading scar at his sternum, to rest directly over his heart. He presses Caleb's hand flat against his chest and sinks back down on his cock, slowly and steadily until he's filled. He's panting, resting on Caleb's bony hips, flushed with pleasure zipping through his veins. He can feel his heart pounding against Caleb's hand, their shared heartbeat echoing through him.

“ _Molly,_ ” Caleb gasps, overcome. His hips buck up a little, jolting Molly on his lap and Molly groans at the sudden shift of Caleb's cock inside him. He squeezes Caleb's fingers and grins down at him.

“Everything you were picturing, dear?” he asks, and before Caleb can form an answer he rolls his hips, rising and falling and wrenching a shocked moan from his soulmate.

“Better,” Caleb says hoarsely. He thrusts up as well as he can; there is not much leverage but enough friction that Molly cries out. He flails out with his hand, catches hold of Caleb’s shoulder for balance. He takes a moment, a breath, readjusts slightly and gripping Caleb’s shoulders with both hands.

He leans in and captures Caleb’s lips, rolling his hips in tiny movements, tiny sparks of pleasure zipping through him. “I love you,” he gasps against Caleb’s lips. Before Caleb can answer, Molly pushes himself up and begins to ride him in earnest.

His thighs burn with the effort, but every stroke of Caleb’s cock drives him higher. He tilts back just a bit and it’s the perfect drag inside him. Molly lets his head fall back, losing himself in the rhythm and sweet burn and the sounds that Caleb makes when he clenches around him. He grinds down, circling his hips and drawing out a string of gasps and curses from Caleb.

Then he feels hot breath against his chest for a split second before Caleb’s teeth scrape lightly over his nipple and Molly might _shout_ , neighbors be damned, he doesn’t quite know the sound that escapes him. Caleb’s lips seal around the little nub and Molly curls forward, pressing closer, chasing the bolt of pleasure that rushes through him. His dick drags against Caleb’s stomach, neglected and aching, and Molly’s head spins with the wash of sensations coursing through him.

“Caleb,” he gasps, “Caleb, touch me, please, _please_ —”

A hand closes around his cock, and Molly bucks into it, incoherent. Caleb’s other hand latches around the back of his neck, pulls him into a hard, messy kiss as he strokes Molly’s cock.

“Come for me,” Caleb says, breathless and harsh, and Molly keens against his mouth. “Come—come for me, Molly, my Molly, please—”

It’s too much, perfect sharp pleasure and Caleb’s rough voice tipping him over the edge. He buries his face in Caleb’s shoulder, hopes that he muffles the helpless sounds he’s making even a little bit as he shakes and comes in Caleb’s grasp. Caleb’s arms hold him tight, and his hips buck up into Molly once, twice, before he hears a gorgeous low moan in his ear as Caleb follows him. He’s got to try to hear that again, Molly thinks dizzily, gasping, pressing sloppy kisses into whatever bit of skin he can find. He’s going to make Caleb come apart in so many ways. He’s going to love this man until he’s nothing but stardust.

Caleb holds him in his arms as they come down. “We’re a mess,” Molly mutters. Now that the pleasure is waning, he’s aware of the burn in his legs and the sticky mess on his skin. Caleb buries his face in Molly’s neck and groans.

Slowly, limbs shaky and very distracted by kisses, they manage to clean up and settle down. Molly squishes a pillow into the proper shape for his horns and curls up.

He smiles when the bed dips and Caleb slips into bed beside him. He feels a soft kiss to his cheek, and Caleb’s arm slips around his waist. He curls his tail around Caleb’s ankle in return.

He hears one last, quiet, “ _Guten nacht, liebling,_ ” as he falls asleep.

* * *

Molly is lovely in the morning.

Caleb is awake with the sun, but for the first time in years he feels no inclination to get up. He lays there, unwilling to move, watching his soulmate as the light brightens slowly in their room at the Pillow Trove. Most of Molly’s jewelry was taken out the night before, but a few of the studs still glimmer slightly in the light.

Molly has curled up on his side, his head half-buried in the pillows to find a comfortable position for his horns. His hair has fluffed up overnight, light filtering through violet frizz as the sun rises.

Caleb wants to run his fingers over the peacock-feather tattoo, trace the soft fan of Molly’s eyelashes across the top of his cheek. He needs to refamiliarize himself with every inch of lavender skin, kiss every scar and tattoo and make sure it’s the same as he remembers.

There’s a crack in the curtains, a single strip of bright light sneaking across the pillows. As Caleb watches, it creeps from Molly’s hair to his forehead, down across his brow and his closed eye. Molly’s nose scrunches up, his eyes squinting open reluctantly.

Caleb cannot help the ridiculously besotted smile that takes over his face. “ _Guten morgen,_  Mollymauk,” he murmurs.

Molly stretches luxuriously, every lean muscle on display. The blankets slip down, baring more of Molly’s torso and tattoos to the morning light. “Morning, darling,” he murmurs. He finishes his stretch and tucks his hands behind his head.

Caleb reaches out and trails his fingers across Molly’s collarbone. He traces down his chest, following scars and ink and last night’s bruises. “How are you feeling?” he asks quietly. There’s a soft stillness in the morning air that he feels reluctant to break.

A smile spreads across Molly’s lips, slow and sweet as molasses. “I feel wonderful, as a matter of fact.” He arches a little, not coincidentally pressing closer into Caleb’s touch. Caleb smiles at the shameless display. Molly’s tail flips up another corner of the sheet, swishing happily across the bed.

Caleb cannot contain everything he feels for Mollymauk, for his soulmate, in that moment. He leans over Molly’s supine form and kisses him, slow and deep and in no rush. He can feel more than hear Molly’s pleased hum, a quiet vibration where their chests press together. One of Molly’s hands threads into Caleb’s hair, not pushing or even guiding, simply there as they kiss.

Caleb breaks away first, just barely, just enough to take a deep breath. He gets stuck there, though, looking down at Molly once more. He cups Molly’s cheek in his hand, marvels at the softness of his skin there. He has very fine laughter lines around his eyes. His dark lashes turn pale lilac at the very tips, just barely visible up close. Caleb could study him for a lifetime, find every tiny beauty and still discover new ones every day.

Molly’s throat bobs as he swallows, red eyes flickering open. “Caleb?” he murmurs, and his mouth is soft and kiss-bruised and Caleb is helpless. He doesn’t reply, just lowers his head and tastes Molly’s lips all over again, sipping on his shallow breaths and savoring every tiny moan. He skates his thumb once more over Molly’s cheek, then slides his hand down. His fingertips glide over razor-thin scars, warm skin, and the soft rumble of moans caught in his throat. Caleb pauses the kiss there, lips barely brushing. He rests the heel of his hand lightly, so carefully, at the hollow of his throat and Molly makes the most beautiful broken sound he’s ever heard.

“Mollymauk,” he whispers, just to feel it leave his lips and tease across his skin and relish the tiny gasp beneath his palm.

He kisses the tip of Molly’s nose, feather-light, and draws back a little. Molly looks up at him, hazy and lovely in the growing light. Caleb slides his hand around the side of his neck, rubbing softly over the trailing feathers with his thumb, and Molly takes a deeper, shuddering breath.

“You look like someone with a plan, there, Mister Caleb,” he says, low and syrup-sweet, words thick on his tongue and desire shining in his eyes.

“Do I?” Caleb asks mildly. He leans in again, places a light kiss at the top of Molly’s throat. “Mm.” Another kiss, just a centimeter lower than the first. “Perhaps I do.” Another kiss, and this time a swift, tiny suck. Molly shivers underneath him, chest rising and falling shallowly. “Do I hear any objections?” Caleb teases, his lips just barely brushing against Molly’s skin.

“Nope,” Molly says breathlessly. “Ah, no, none, do carry on, now— _ah—_ ” he trails off, words stuttering away into a low moan as Caleb trails the tip of his tongue down to the hollow of his throat, leaving Molly shivering in its wake.

Caleb shifts and resettles, bracing his weight on his knees as much as he can. “Just stay as you are, _schatz_ ,” he says. He sweeps his hands slowly down Molly’s sides, gliding across his chest, then his ribs, then settling at his waist. He rubs little circles with his thumbs, just barely at the top of Molly’s hipbone, and gets a warm thrill out of the shiver he receives. “We have nowhere to be, and I want to take my time with you this morning.”

“Come kiss me again,” Molly demands, and Caleb does as he asks without a second’s hesitation. Molly’s kiss is heated, more excited and less patient than it was earlier. His tongue sweeps into Caleb’s mouth, familiar in its eagerness, and Caleb wants to smile as he presses back. He runs one hand back up Molly’s stomach, over his chest until it rests at his heart.

The kiss slows, then breaks as Molly nudges Caleb’s jaw with his nose. “Get on with it, Widogast,” he teases, that bright grin breaking once more across his face. Caleb raises his eyebrows challengingly, and Molly’s grin stays firmly in place. He’s determined, now, to make Mollymauk forget everything outside their bed.

He runs his fingertip along Molly’s bottom lip, following the curve of that grin. Molly’s smile softens, and his tongue flicks out and brushes the pad of his finger. Caleb takes a deep, slow breath in, holding onto his self-control. He’s not anywhere near done, no matter how talented he knows that tongue is.

He runs the backs of his fingers along Molly’s face, following the soft curve of his cheek. Molly shivers head to tail-tip, then leans into the light pressure. Caleb cups his hand against Molly’s cheek and leans in to steal another kiss, light and quick.

“Stay there,” he repeats softly, and shifts down the bed.

The crack in the curtains shines a line of light across Molly’s chest, and Caleb follows it with his mouth. He leaves feather-light kisses on Molly’s skin, barely-there pressure that makes Molly shiver a little. Every time a scar crosses his path, Caleb lingers an extra moment, gives the mark a soft touch of his tongue or a short suck. He likes the changing texture under his lips, the warmth of Molly’s skin and the even rise and fall of his chest. It’s an easy rhythm to fall into, and he finds his hands on either side of Molly’s waist, his thumbs rubbing slow circles in his skin.

He finds the end of the sunlight and leaves a tiny bite there, hardly hard enough to mark. Molly sighs quietly, and his eyes are half-closed and shining when Caleb looks up. He places another kiss directly above Molly’s heart, gets a helpless smile in return.

He eases down Molly’s sternum, nuzzling into the softer spots below his ribs. Molly laughs at him, warm and low, and his tail wiggles in Caleb’s peripherals. Caleb smiles and kisses the ticklish spot, eliciting another little jerk, but Molly stays still just as he’d asked, letting Caleb explore and worship as he’s meant to.

Molly’s breath begins to quicken when Caleb runs his fingers along his hip bones and follows with his tongue. His legs spread apart at a gentle nudge, and Caleb presses his lips to the inside of Molly’s thighs. There’s muscle just beneath his fingertips, powerful from hard work and dexterous fighting, but now, in the growing light of their room, Molly is soft and relaxed under Caleb’s hands. He smooths his hands up over Molly’s thighs, hearing Molly’s soft intake of breath above him. He mouths at the crease between his hip and thigh, and breaks a quiet moan from him at last.

He finds tiny bruises marking the skin of Molly’s hips, barely discernible, just a shade or two darker purple than his natural skin tone. He kisses each one he finds in apology, though by the distinct hitch in Molly’s breath there’s no penance required.

Molly lets out a lovely, stuttering moan when Caleb wraps his hand around his cock. He keeps his strokes slow and firm, savoring the way Molly twitches and gasps. Caleb lowers his head back down, laying soft kisses and quick nips along his hips and thighs. A few bloom into bruises in his wake, adding to Molly’s collection in a matter of minutes.

The sight of Molly arching into his touch and whimpering out his name is overwhelming in the best kind of way. Caleb can still hardly believe that he’s allowed to do this, to hold Molly’s pleasure in his hands and bring these beautiful reactions to the surface.

Suddenly Molly is too far away, too far to see every sensation play out on his face or steal kisses from his lips. Caleb makes his way back up Molly’s body, slowly but surely, stopping and drifting every once in a while to kiss and touch a new patch of skin, to revisit sensitive places and get Molly writhing under his hands.

Molly’s eyes are closed when he gets back to eye level, and Caleb takes the moment to admire him. His cheeks are flushed a pretty magenta color, that spreads to his ears and down his throat. A sheen of sweat glimmers in the early light. Molly’s mouth is open, kissed soft and inviting, and Caleb leans forward and traces Molly’s bottom lip with the tip of his tongue just as he twists his wrist.

Molly cries out, and his hips buck up and brush against Caleb’s cock. He’s been ignoring it, focused entirely on exploring and marking and kissing every inch of Molly, but now he is very aware of his own need.

Molly’s hips thrust again, harder, and Caleb swears under his breath and the head of Molly’s cock slides against his. He wants to chase the feeling, grind down and thrust against Molly until they’re both coming.

“Caleb,” Molly groans, and Caleb lays his free hand against the side of Molly’s neck and kisses him again, swallowing down those lovely noises and gasps. He gives in, pushes his hips against Molly’s and shudders with the immediate relief and mounting pleasure.

“Please,” Molly breathes out, and Caleb takes them both in hand, rutting against him and kissing Molly’s sounds away. He can feel Molly’s heartbeat, _their_ heartbeat, pounding where they’re pressed together. Every beat and stroke and kiss takes him higher, rushing toward the peak until he feels Molly shudder, then spill and Caleb tips over the edge after him.

He hardly bothers to avoid falling on Molly when he collapses, limbs suddenly gone shaky and slow. Molly huffs out a surprised breath when Caleb lands half on top of him, but he wiggles his arm free enough to wrap around Caleb’s waist and ensure he’s not going anywhere. They lay there, panting against each other, and Caleb closes his eyes and savors his pounding heartbeat, the way he can feel them slowly coming down together.

“Wow,” Molly mumbles, nuzzling into Caleb’s cheek. His eyes are closed once more, and a sleepy hum escapes him. “Mmm. Stay.”

“You’re a mess,” Caleb points out, amused.

Molly makes a noncommittal sound and curls closer into Caleb’s body. He is a mess, but a beautiful one to Caleb’s eyes.

It’s early morning yet, and Molly is lovely. He’ll stay in bed for just a few more minutes.

* * *

They finally decide on a job, just a quick jaunt to the south to get them back on the road. Their last night in Zadash coincides with a performance night at the Song and Supper, so they settle in gladly for a night of music and company and safety.

The traveling band is lively and cheerful, pulling the crowd into a jovial mood as the worries of the Empire cease to exist for just a few hours in this tavern. Caleb finds himself slouching easily in his seat next to Molly late in the evening. He has one of Molly’s hands clasped in both of his, idly spinning some of Molly’s rings around and around.

“I want to dance to this,” Jester declares, abruptly shutting her journal. She holds her hands out to Nott. “Want to dance with me?”

“I can’t waltz like Caleb can,” Nott hesitates, but with Jester’s enthusiastic encouragement she finishes her drink and hops of out her chair. Caleb smiles watching the two of them, dancing in their own fashion in the midst of the crowd.

Molly hums along to the song, quiet and familiar to Caleb’s ear. He wonders if Molly would like to dance, as well. He wonders if he could stand up and ask for a dance.

“You’re familiar with this one?” he asks Molly instead. He nods, charms flashing in the cheerful yellow light inside the inn.

“Heard Desmond play the melody once, I think.” He glances over at Caleb. “Have you heard anything familiar tonight?”

Caleb smiles slightly. “ _Nein_ , I believe we would have to go much further north for the sort of tunes I grew up with.”

“We could ask for a waltz,” Molly suggests, and his eyes are so fond and soft on Caleb, his cheek leaned against his hand. And Caleb loves him dearly, uncontainably, and he leans forward in a music-filled tavern and kisses Molly on the lips for anyone to see. Let them. This is Caleb's soulmate, and he loves him.

The music shifts to something slower—not a waltz, but the halfling woman with the violin leads a lovely, enchanting melody that Caleb thinks he can follow quite easily.

Feeling bold, he stands up and holds his hand out to Mollymauk. “Would you dance with me, _liebling?_ ”

He will never tire of seeing Molly’s face light up with that smile. He would move mountains and skies and planes of existence for that smile. Molly’s hand slides into his, and he stands gracefully and follows Caleb to the edge of the dance floor.

Molly puts his free hand on Caleb’s shoulder, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to pull him closer. The music has a steady beat, familiar from so long ago even under the unfamiliar tune. He presses against Molly’s hand, steps forward, and Molly follows.

He gets distracted, he knows he does. Once in a while the two of them miss a beat, stumble a little over each other, but Molly laughs every time and Caleb cannot help the joy that bubbles up in him. He nudges lightly at Molly’s waist, pushing him into a turn that flares his extravagant coat out behind him. He turns them again, then pushes out and Molly spins away, laughing, and swings back into Caleb’s arms. The charms of his jewelry clink and chime together, and he sways right into the next direction Caleb takes them. Molly is warm and bright against him, and Caleb cannot remember ever being so breathlessly happy.

The music swells to its closing peak, and Caleb gets a foolish idea that Molly will love no matter how badly it ends, and he is lightheaded with carefree dance and his soulmate’s smile. The halfling woman draws out her last flourish on the violin, and Caleb twirls Molly out once again, and when he comes whirling back Caleb catches him and dips him back.

Molly yelps, and his tail snaps around Caleb’s waist for security, and then he laughs wildly again as Caleb grins down at him. Molly puts both hands on Caleb’s face and kisses him soundly, and it breaks after moment because neither of them can stop smiling for long.

And, Caleb has to admit, because he can’t hold anyone up for long. He pulls Molly upright before he drops him. There’s more music picking up again, but Caleb winds his arms around Molly’s waist and just holds him close as the night plays on around them.

* * *

Being on the road feels like a return to normal, for them. They day of easy travel and good weather does them good, and when night falls over their camp they are all in high spirits. A good, satisfying kind of sleepiness settles over them, and when Caleb offers to take the first watch it feels wonderfully normal to hear Molly offer to stay up with him.

The fire crackles softly, burning low but warm as the night grows deeper. As their friends settle down to rest, Molly leans back against Caleb’s chest, wiggling around until he’s comfortably settled. Caleb slides his arms over Molly’s shoulders. He feels more than hears Molly’s hum, a low vibration against his chest.

It’s growing colder at night, Caleb tells himself as he buries his nose in Molly’s hair. He’s self-aware enough to know that it’s not just for the body heat that he pulls the tiefling closer. He breathes in the smell of lavender oil and fresh air, the familiar smells of outdoors and travel and Mollymauk, things he has slowly, subconsciously begun to call _home._

“Don’t fall asleep up there, love,” Molly says. “We’re on watch, after all.”

“I’m not asleep,” Caleb murmurs. Impulsively, he presses his lips to the crown of Molly’s head. He feels a _thump_ against his knee and smiles to himself. Molly’s tail is excitable, even when he tries to hold himself still.

He picks his head up and sets his chin on Molly’s head between his horns, gazing out across the dark fields. He doesn’t see much other than murky black under the faint moonlight, but it’s quiet around them. Molly’s hands come up to cover Caleb’s, playing idly with his fingers. Caleb untangles one of his hands and snaps his fingers as quietly as possible.

Frumpkin poofs into this realm, standing in Molly’s lap and blinking up at the two of them. Silently, Caleb tells him to curl up and get comfortable and cute. Molly chuckles slightly, reaching out his free hand to scritch Frumpkin under the chin. Frumpkin’s eyes slide closed and he lets out a rumbling purr.

Caleb presses his open palm over Molly’s chest. He rubs his thumb softly over the bared skin at his collarbone. He’s starting all over again to memorize the multitude of scars that criss-cross his soulmate’s skin.

He feels another soft vibration against his chest, and he can’t help a small smile breaking out. He stares out into the night, one steady heartbeat under his hand and two soft, soothing purrs in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god it's finished. A thousand thank-yous to the amazing steelneena for invaluable beta work and encouragement! I could not have finished this without you, let alone in a timely fashion, so thank you. 
> 
> Thank you, thank you to everyone who commented and cheered me on to finish this, as well. Sorry about the tears, I hope the kisses made up for it. 
> 
> Also, there's an additional [sunshine B-side playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/a.mackenzie13/playlist/6kYjDiQHQqvkOveY4ot3fv?si=Hq1KgGMDRB-yn-YmObpKGQ) now!
> 
> I had the joy of commissioning artlyloser on tumblr for this amazing art of the reunion scene! If you can't see the image here on AO3, you can find it [here](https://midnighter13.tumblr.com/post/182016677286/artlyloser-a-commission-for-midnighter13-for) on tumblr!  
> 


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